


You Say it Best

by princesstigerlily



Series: Anatomy of a Schitt's Creek Rom-Com [2]
Category: Notting Hill (1999), Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Rom Com, M/M, Movie Star David Rose, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesstigerlily/pseuds/princesstigerlily
Summary: David Rose is an international superstar, known the world over for his work in a series of controversial, moody arthouse films. While in Toronto for a shoot, he wanders into The General Store, an old fashioned and out of date shop, where he meets the owner, Patrick Brewer. Can they make it work in such wildly different worlds?In other words, Schitt's Creek meets Notting Hill.(Chapter 9 epilogue is E-rated)
Relationships: David Rose/Jake, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Rachel (past)
Series: Anatomy of a Schitt's Creek Rom-Com [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997902
Comments: 122
Kudos: 266





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Olive31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olive31/gifts), [Julywonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julywonder/gifts).



> Well, I just couldn't let Sleepless in Seattle be the only rom-com I tackle! So here's the next one, even if the movie isn't good for David and Patrick's relationship.
> 
> In an attempt to change my writing habits and not make readers wait months in between chapters, I actually have a good chunk of this already written and am planning on new chapters dropping every Saturday.
> 
> And thank you to the best people in this fandom for being my friends and for always encouraging me. 💛🧡💚💜
> 
> Enjoy!!!

“You could always fire me.”

Patrick dragged his eyes away from the bloodbath staring back at him from the ancient desktop computer screen tucked away in the backroom of The General Store and looked at Twyla, staring back at him, guileless and serene. She was completely serious, he knew, just like she had been the last six months, every time they closed the books and saw their profits fall even further.

“Twyla.” Patrick shook his head with a good-natured laugh. “I’m not going to fire you.”

“I’d be okay.” She reached out to lay a comforting hand on Patrick’s shoulder, squeezing it in kind reassurance which only made Patrick feel worse. “My mom’s ex-boyfriend says I always have a job reading tarot cards at his tattoo shop if things don’t work out here.”

“That’s good that you have a backup,” Patrick said, sinking further into his chair, doing his best to ignore the broken lumbar support that was digging into his spine. “But I’m not going to fire you. If we go down, we’re going down together.”

“Like the captain and first mate of the Titanic!”

“I...sure.” Patrick wasn’t sure if that was historically accurate or not, but the look on Twyla’s face was so sunny and bright, he didn’t have the heart to question it. “Just like that.”

Clapping her hands together in excitement, Twyla beamed back at him. “Well, I think you could use a little pick-me-up, Captain. How about a tea?”

As Twyla made her way out of the shop, Patrick let his head fall into his hands, scrubbing hard over his face. If only a tea could save them from imminent failure.

Patrick was never supposed to be here, running a store on his own. The whole thing had been Rachel’s idea, an old fashioned general store in the heart of the city, something kitchy and timeless and useful. It had been a good idea, and they had made a good team, but Patrick was just supposed to be the numbers guy, leaving the artistic vision up to Rachel. When he’d somehow ended up with the store in the divorce, he’d lost that side of it. Kitchy had become tacky. Old fashioned had become out dated. And the store had been hemorrhaging customers and money ever since.

He’d tried to follow the basic blueprint Rachel had left behind, but nothing seemed to work anymore. Where her window displays had been bright and welcoming, his were confused and chaotic. She had hosted community events that were well attended, but his generated little interest. She just had a knack for deciphering that winning combination of what people wanted with what they needed,

_ Bread and roses _ , she had always said, but it was a code Patrick could never seem to crack.

Patrick sighed. Twyla was more right with her analogy than he was ready to admit. He knew he was getting ready to throw the towel in with the whole thing, but he wasn’t there quite yet. And he was determined to keep paying Twyla as long as he possibly could.

Shaking his head, Patrick closed the browser, clearing the screen of spreadsheets and budgets and P&L reports. It was just too depressing, and it would continue to be depressing tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. 

His eyes wandered unseeingly over the mess that was his desk. Paperwork and hastily written notes, trashy magazines and empty take out containers were strewn everywhere. He didn’t used to be like this; in the early days of opening up shop, he’d prided himself on his tidiness. And maybe one day he’d become that person again. But in a sinking ship, even one he still loved, it was hard to muster up the energy for perfection.

A copy of  _ Hello! _ peeked out beneath a mountain of paid invoices, catching Patrick’s attention. David Rose was on the cover again, with accompanying articles of upcoming projects, his family’s latest antics, and an inside look at David’s every day diet. Plucking the magazine out of the mess, Patrick flicked through the pages as a means of distraction.

Rachel used to love to tease Patrick about his complete lack of knowledge of pop culture, how it could somehow just bypass him completely, but even he knew who David Rose was, the son of Johnny Rose, one of the richest men in the world, who successfully transitioned Rose Video, a brick and mortar video rental chain into a successful streaming service, second only to Interflix, and Moira Rose, a former soap opera star who recently made headlines when she was named Kelly Ripa’s successor after the morning show host stepped down earlier in the year. David Rose had initially been written off, just another untalented socialite, riding the coattails of his parents’ success, his own doomed to peak with a rehab stint and sex tape, but he’d surprised the world with his first film, garnering near universal praise for his performance. Now, after a string of controversial, moody arthouse hits, his star was cemented and his face had become a tabloid mainstay.

_ David Rose’s favorite food is kale!  _ the glossy pages of the magazine screamed.  _ Page 18 has all of David’s favorite kale recipes! _

Patrick rolled his eyes and snorted. Nobody’s favorite food was kale, not even a pretentious, international superstar like David Rose.

He flipped another page, this time to a full page black and white photo, and sucked in a breath. There was something haunting about the face staring back at him, something beautiful and melancholy. There was a smile on David’s face, small and teasing, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. Did he usually look like this, Patrick wondered? He was sure he’d seen a David Rose film, but he’d never noticed just how arresting David’s eyes were before now. Though that was probably because Patrick was usually too busy rolling his own, dismissing the actor as just another pretentious rich guy.

He flipped another page, taking the time to actually  _ look _ , to actually read the words of the interview. An ex-boyfriend was mentioned, and while David side-stepped most of the question, his response was still far more personal than Patrick would have ever wanted to give. He thought about how it would feel to have his own life splashed across the pages of a magazine. Strangers reading through the mess of his and Rachel’s divorce, taking sides with only scraps of the full story. He shuddered at the thought.

A soft bell ringing pulled him out of his musings as he was alerted to a customer in the front of the store. Dropping the magazine back onto the pile, Patrick strode out of the back room office and took up his spot behind the register, a benign customer service smile on his face. He opened his mouth to offer a pleasant greeting to the man now scanning the contents of the store, but the words died on his lips and he choked on nothing.

David Rose was standing in his store.

Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, sure he was seeing things, but when he opened them again, David was still there. His monochrome sweater was topped by an equally monochrome scarf in competing patterns Patrick would normally have said clashed. His skinny black jeans had holes in the knees and runs up the thighs, and though Patrick would have replaced them long before they had gotten so threadbare, something told him that the distressed look was something David was specifically going for. Patrick thought his shoes looked like Chuck Taylors, only fancier, and he was wearing a pair of white framed sunglasses that Patrick would have removed upon leaving the outside. There was no doubt, this was David Rose.

After wetting his lips with his tongue, Patrick was finally able to call out a semi-intelligible, “Can I help you with anything?”

“No, thanks.”

David’s voice was softer than Patrick remembered it being. He thought there might have been a lot of shouting in the film he’d seen, but he couldn’t say for sure. He watched David move slowly through the store, gently touching certain products and frowning at others. He knew he should look away, that David was just another customer that he should leave alone if he didn’t want Patrick’s assistance, but something compelled him to keep staring.

It wasn’t every day a celebrity of such magnitude graced The General Store. It wasn’t every day  _ any  _ celebrity graced The General Store, and Patrick found that he was suddenly filled with anxiety, unable to think like a normal human being. What did he normally do when there were customers in the store? Did he normally have his hands shoved in his pockets like this?

Patrick squeezed his eyes shut again, angrily telling himself to get a grip. He was a grown, adult man who should not be getting star struck at the sight of David Rose. Opening his eyes again, he watched David move towards the little bookshelf in the left corner of the store, and blanched, suddenly embarrassed by the airport gift shop quality of selection.

“Oh, uh...yeah, the book section there isn’t that great.”

David looked up from the book he was perusing - something with a shirtless man on the front cover and a woman in even less clinging to him, the author’s name raised in ornate gold print - and raised his eyebrows as Patrick came around the register and took a few steps towards him.

“Nothing but heaving bosoms and unrealistic bulges.” Heat bloomed on Patrick’s face. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “My wife, well  _ ex-wife _ , she always used to joke about needing a little sex to get people in the door, but it’s all pretty tasteless. Silly rom-coms and all that. Nothing...uh, nothing like the stuff you’re into, all the indie arthouse...uh...stuff.”

Without dropping Patrick’s gaze, David placed the book back on the shelf and picked up another, this one with two shirtless men emblazoned on the cover. Patrick was pretty sure one of them was supposed to be a werewolf.

“I just mean, from your...from you films, you seem to be into some pretty cerebral stuff. Not the trashy…” David’s eyebrows lifted again at that, and Patrick immediately tried to backtrack. “I mean, not that...not that there’s anything wrong with...with sex and romance. And you know what, you’re right, if people enjoy it, who am I to-”

Patrick heaved a sigh of relief at the sound of the bell on the door, signaling another customer and effectively shutting down his spiral, but his heart sank at the sight of the bleach blond hair and blank, apathetic face of the teen. He knew he had seen this kid loitering around the store, scaring off what few customers he had left.

“Do you have any gum?” the kid asked, and Patrick pointed him towards the correct aisle. When he turned back to David, the man had tucked the werewolf book under his arm and was now looking at one that Patrick was pretty sure was about pirates.

“Hey, mister,” the kid called again, his voice sullen and lifeless. “You got any more of this kind in the back?” He waved an empty cardboard box in Patrick’s direction.

He was pretty sure they didn’t, but Patrick turned with a sigh to check nonetheless. A sale was a sale after all. He returned empty handed to see David standing at the register.

“I’ll take both of these, please,” he said, placing both the werewolf and pirate romances on the counter. As Patrick began to ring him up, his foot knocked against a display of toilet plungers and he made a face, taking one step to the side to remove himself from the offending merchandise.

“’Scuse me.” David was visibly startled by the kid suddenly appearing at his elbow, but managed to control his face. “Can I have your autograph?”

“Uh...sure.” When the kid didn’t offer him anything to sign, David looked to Patrick who tore off a slip of receipt tape from the register and handed it to him along with a pen. David signed his name with a flourish and pushed it into the kid’s hands, handing the pen back to Patrick with a practiced smile of thanks.

“Do you want to come to my games night?”

David blinked several times in the kid’s directing before finally grimacing out a smile. “Tempting,” he said, “but, no.” The kid shrugged, slipping the autographed paper into his back pocket, and trudged out of the shop.

David turned back to Patrick who gave him a rueful grin. “I’m shocked you didn’t take him up on his offer,” he teased. “Delinquent youths not your crowd?”

A laugh was startled out of David, almost stopping Patrick in his tracks. He looked up from the register to gaze at David, taking in the first genuine smile he’d been offered. He felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Mm, by the way,” David said, his voice snapping Patrick out of his trance, who then busied himself finishing David’s purchase, “that kid is stealing from you.”

Patrick’s head snapped up, his mouth dropped open in disbelief. “I...what?”

“Yeah.” David’s face pinched together, like he was going for sympathy, but it came across as more of a look of bemused pity. “It’s usually better when you have a whole gang, but there are some decent solo tricks.”

“I...I feel like I would have seen that.”

David shrugged. “My sister went through a klepto phase as a teenager when she was in the Hamptons. Basically took out a whole Miss Sixty store.”

Dumfounded, Patrick could do little more than silently hand him back his credit card. He tried to say something, but couldn’t get his brain to string any intelligent words together.

“I wouldn’t worry, though,” David continued, sliding the card back into his wallet. “He only took the cleanser and the toner, so give it an hour and he’ll be back for the moisturizer and you can deal with him then.”

“How can you be so sure?”

David gave him a pitying laugh as he scooped his bag of books off the counter. “Uh, ’cause otherwise his T-zones are gonna be fucked?”

Patrick waited until David was out the door before crossing the front of the store and watching through the window as David got swallowed up by the crowd.

_ Did that just happen? _ he thought, a bemused smile on his face. Already it felt like a dream.

Moments later, the bell on the door rang again and Twyla walked though carrying Patrick’s tea.

“Hey, boss,” she said, handing him the to-go cup. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

Patrick turned, his mouth opened and poised to answer, but he couldn’t say the words. For some reason, he wanted to keep the interaction to himself. He didn’t want it to become a funny celebrity story, just a moment of connection.

“I think there’s a kid who might be stealing from us,” was all he said.

“Oh, you know, my cousin used to work at this restaurant one time, and everyone thought she was stealing food from the big walk in freezer. Her boyfriend wasn’t working so they all thought she was stealing for him, but it turned, she just had a tapeworm and was hungry all the time.”

Used to Twyla’s stories by this point, Patrick just hummed noncommittally and nodded, taking a small sip of his still scalding tea.

“Twyla,” he asked, noticing her empty hands. “Did you not get yourself a smoothie?”

“I didn’t want to make you wait for your tea while they made it.”

“Oh no,” he said, fondness for his employee and friend warming his heart. “I could have waited. Here, I need to clear my head, let me go pick one up for you.”

It was good to stretch his legs. With his apartment sitting right above his shop, there were times Patrick would spend days without ever leaving the building. It was a nice walk to the cafe, the sun shining down on his face, the sounds of the city like music in his ears. His server made Twyla’s summer berry blast smoothie quickly and he was back out on the street in no time.

It was hard to feel down on such a beautiful day, even with his store failing the way it was. He breathed in the warm summer air, letting it fill his lungs with sunshine and optimism.

As he turned the last corner, his mind on other things, Patrick made the mistake of blinking, closing his eyes just a second too long, and careened headfirst into another body. A shock of cold jolted through him as the smoothie went everywhere and an outraged yelp brought him up short.

David Rose was standing in front of him once again, a purple splash of smoothie blooming across his sweater, and a thunderous look on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week two and I've already lied to you!
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay - I really do intend for these chapters to come out on Saturdays, but considering the week we've had here in the US and my absolute lack of ability to do literally anything but refresh the election map over and over again on my phone, I hope you can forgive just this once. Oh yeah, plus I just hated this chapter and rewrote the whole thing today. So...it's been a week!

“Oh my god.”

David was holding his arms away from his body, watching the purple stain spread across the white front of his sweater, his mouth opened in shock.

“Oh my god,” Patrick said again, his own shirt ruined as well. “I’m so sorry. I’m _so_ sorry. Here.” Pulling open the little bag carrying his blueberry muffin, Patrick snatched up the one lone napkin, thrusting it towards David's chest as if it could do anything to staunch the flow.

“Don’t touch me!” David shrieked, smacking Patrick’s hand away. “I need water.” He turned his head frantically, like he was hoping water would just magically appear in front of him if he asked for it.

“I have water!” David turned back, looking at Patrick expectantly, and he cringed. “I...I mean...I have water at home.”

David groaned, turning away with a final scowl, and pulled out his phone. “Leave me alone,” he snapped. “I’m calling a car.”

Patrick shook his head, trying to center the thoughts the crash and the shock had knocked loose from his head. “No,” he said, “I mean...I live right above the shop.” He pointed across the street towards his store. “There’s water right there, or anything else if you need.”

David looked at him doubtfully before glancing back down at his phone, but whatever he saw on the screen was a disappointment. Tilting his head back, David huffed out an annoyed sigh.

“Fine.”

As Patrick led David across the street, his heart began to pound and his mind to race. He was leading David Rose into his apartment. David Rose was going to see where he lived, where he slept. What was he going to think of the cluttered, little apartment? Suddenly Patrick felt bashful, like he wished he had something grander than the old remnants of a broken marriage and an overly cheerful roommate to boast of.

He shouldn’t care what David thought of him or his home. If you had asked him yesterday, he would have said he absolutely _didn’t_ care what some random celebrity thought of him, but seeing David in person - talking with him, making him laugh - made Patrick flustered and tongue tied in a way he just didn’t understand.

He had to put his shoulder into it to get the door open as he often did due to the overstuffed file cabinet right beside it blocking the hinge. As he led David into the small space, he winced, watching David’s eyes widen as he took it all in. There were for sale signs stacked up in one corner, and a box overflowing with miscellaneous props in another. A professional camera was set up in the middle of the living room pointed towards a floor length backdrop in an under the sea theme hanging from the ceiling. A cabinet stuck out from one wall, covered in business cards and brochures, each touting a different business and sporting a photo of a man’s grinning face, and along the opposite was a clothing rack bursting with costumes, the most prominent of which seemed to be a Christmas elf.

“That’s my roommate’s,” Patrick said, quick to distance himself from the madness. “Ray, he...uh, he’s got a lot going on.”

David’s hum was noncommittal, but his raised eyebrows said everything his mouth wasn’t.

Silence stretched between them.

“Right,” Patrick finally said, clasping his hands together in front of himself. “Water. Uh...over here is the bathroom.” He ushered David towards the room, hovering awkwardly in the doorway as David pulled the ruined sweater over his head. “I’ve got stain remover. If you want.”

David shot him a pitying look. “Stain remover isn’t going to do much here.” He sighed wistfully, running his hands over the material. “She’s ruined.”

Patrick’s chest burned at David’s words. He didn’t sound angry anymore, more _sad_ than anything else. Patrick wasn’t one to get attached to his clothes. They were functional and nothing more, and as such, were easily replaced, so he wasn’t sure how to respond to David’s clear grief.

“I’m sorry.”

David heaved a sigh, petting the sweater softly one last time. “She’s from two seasons ago, so...you probably did me a favor.” Gently, he folded the ruined garment and slipped it into his bag before turning to look at himself in the mirror with a frown. As he went to remove his equally stained undershirt, he caught sight of Patrick staring and glared in response. “Do you mind?”

His face flaming, Patrick turned his back on David, squeaking out a “Sorry!”

He could hear movement behind him and the rush of water from the faucet before an irritated “Fuck!”

“Everything okay?” he asked, back still turned.

“This stain isn’t coming out of this either!”

“I’ve still got that stain stick,” Patrick offered again. “And a washer and dryer if you wanted to wait. Or a…” He took a deep breath before plowing on with his next suggestion. “Or I’ve got a t-shirt you could wear.”

The silence behind him lasted for several seconds before David sighed and asked, “What’s the label?”

“Excuse me?”

“On this... _t-shirt._ What designer?”

Patrick’s lips curled up in amusement. “Uh...it’s from a twelve pack of Hanes?”

David made a pained noise in the back of his throat. “Fine,” he snapped. “But if I get a rash, I’m telling my next interviewer it came from your store.”

Patrick laughed at that as he crossed the apartment to grab a clean t-shirt from his bedroom. David mentioning his store in an interview was more likely to drum up business, even if it was just due to curiosity, so he wasn’t exactly making the threat he thought he was.

Shirt in hand, Patrick made his way back to the bathroom, but pulled up short. David was shirtless, using one of Patrick’s blue washcloths to clean away the last sticky dregs of smoothie clinging to the dusting of hair on his chest. His face had smoothed from his earlier anger and irritation as he methodically worked the cloth over his skin, and Patrick couldn’t help but take a moment to admire the wide expanse of his shoulders and the broad strength of his chest. He could just see the outline of his ribs, making Patrick frown as he remembered the headline about kale. He wondered if that really was David’s favorite food.

Not wanting to invade David’s privacy any longer, Patrick cleared his throat, announcing his presence again. David’s eyes flew to his, catching them in the mirror, and for one moment Patrick’s heart stopped, taking in the galaxies of depth he saw, of David’s warmth and vulnerability and hurt and brilliance. It burned bright before disappearing again behind the cool curtain of Davd’s practiced detachment.

“Thanks,” David said softly, taking the offered shirt from Patrick’s hands and slipping it over his head. It looked like it was a size too small, stretching tight across his chest, and Patrick couldn’t help raking his eyes over the sight.

The smirk that twisted in David’s lips told Patrick that he’d been less subtle then he’d hoped, and a blush bloomed on his face.

“Well,” David said, his face softening into something small and gentle. “I should probably go.”

“Right!” Patrick shook himself out of his trance, backing out of the bathroom doorway. “Right. You’re...you’re David Rose, you must have important places to be.”

David nodded reluctantly and pulled his phone from his bag, but when his eyes flicked to the screen he cursed.

“Fuck!” Closing his eyes tight, David tipped his head back, giving himself a moment to collect himself before asking, “Do you have a phone charger?”

Patrick led David over to the sofa, pushing aside far too many octopus plushies to make room for him to sit. He pulled a cord out from behind the sofa and offered it to David, who sat down gingerly.

“Does a grown man _need_ that many stuffed octopuses?”

“Yeah, uh…” Patrick ducked his head, huffing out a laugh. “My roommate. He’s a photographer. Well, among many other things, but yeah. He gets really into themed portraits.”

“I see.”

“Under the sea is probably his favorite backdrop. That’s the one he uses the most. But he’s got others. Mountain views, tropical beaches. Two different volcanoes.”

“Mmm.”

“He’s not just a photographer, though. Ray...well, he likes to keep busy. So he’s also in real estate. Drives for Uber. Uh...he usually works one of the Christmas Tree lots during the holidays. You know, the one down on...on seventh?” Patrick wasn’t sure why he was saying all this, why he couldn’t seem to stop talking about _Ray_ of all things, but the prospect of sitting in silence with David Rose in his living room seemed to be too much for him to handle. “He also does closet reorganization if you’re...if you’re into that sort of thing.”

At that, David finally looked up from his phone and Patrick withered under the perplexed look on his face.

Silence stretched between them, David staring at his phone screen like he could will it to charge faster and Patrick fiddling with his hands between his knees. The silence was going to kill him. He could feel it welling up within him, the need to speak, to fill the awkwardness with _something_ , so he bit his lip, hopeful he could tamp down anything too embarrassing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick noticed David eyeing the to-go bag he’d tossed onto the coffee table when they arrived. The paper bag had grease spots staining it, butter deliciously oozing from the toasted muffin, and even now that it had cooled there was still the soft scent of vanilla and blueberry clinging to the bag.

 _Kale is no one’s favorite food_ , Patrick thought to himself again, and he reached for the bag. He could feel David’s eyes on him, watching him reach in and pull out the muffin inside, blueberry with a streusel topping. As careful as he could be, keeping most of the crumbs inside the bag, Patrick tore the muffin down the middle, silently offering half to David.

David kept his face neutral as he took the muffin, but Patrick could see the delight in his eyes, and when he took his first bite, all pretense flew out the window as he moaned in pleasure at the taste. Patrick bit back a grin, busying himself with eating his own half.

A moment later, David unplugged his phone. “I’m at 20% now,” he said softly. “That’s enough to call a car and get back to the hotel.”

Nodding, Patrick stood, brushing crumbs off his lap and crumpling the bag in his hand, leaving it in a ball on the table. David let Patrick lead him back across the apartment, standing aside as Patrick opened the door, but he didn’t go through it. Instead, he pushed the door closed again, dropped his bag at his feet, and pulled Patrick in for a kiss.

When David’s lips touched his, Patrick’s brain short-circuited leaving him almost unable to respond. But as David’s soft tongue flicked out to tease across his lips, his whole body sighed. Like a magnet, he found David’s waist, his body warm and soft beneath his hands. He parted his lips, allowing David to slip inside, tasting the sweetness of his tongue.

All too soon, it was over. David pulled back, a small, private smile playing on his lips, teasing in the face of Patrick’s dazed expression. David cupped Patrick’s face, his thumb caressing his bottom lip, and said, “Best not to tell anyone about this.”

“I don’t even think I believe it myself.”

With one more soft smile, David was gone.

* * *

Over the next several days, Patrick couldn’t help but think there was some kind of cosmic power keeping David Rose in his mind. Everywhere he looked, he saw the man. His face was on the cover of every magazine. Ads for his upcoming movie were splashed across city buses and billboards. He saw an interview on late night TV. He couldn’t escape him.

The whole thing felt like a dream, from their meeting in the shop, to their crash in the street, to their kiss at Patrick’s apartment. This wasn’t the sort of thing that happened to people like him. He didn’t meet celebrities. He didn’t kiss strangers in his home. He didn’t follow the lives of the rich and famous.

Patrick was just getting out of the shower, his hair still wet and his skin pinked and plumped with steam, when he found his roommate Ray on their living room sofa, taking a rare moment of respite in front of the TV.

“Good morning, Patrick!” Ray called with his usual cheerfulness. He looked particularly cozy that morning in his plush pink robe and slippers, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hands. “I’ve decided to take the morning off! No appointments until noon.”

“Sounds good, Ray.”

“Have you seen this one, yet?” Ray asked, indicating with his mug towards the TV.

While rubbing a towel over his wet hair, Patrick made his way over to the couch to see what Ray was watching, and he grinned ruefully at the sullen face of David Rose staring back at him.

“That David Rose,” Ray chuckled to himself, oblivious to Patrick’s silent mooning. “Alway so serious in his movies!”

It was true. Even before meeting him, Patrick had always found David’s movies more on the morose side, and now - now that he’d heard David laugh, now that he’d seen a glimpse of that softer side - he ached a little bit, wishing he could see David’s soft smile again. He thought back to the outragous romance novels he’d seemed to favor in Patrick’s store and wondered why he didn’t make movies like that. But he supposed silly rom-coms weren’t exactly awards bait.

With a yawn, Patrick made his way into the kitchen, searching for something for breakfast. He had plans for the evening, but otherwise the whole day was stretched before him. He should do something productive, he thought to himself. Go to the gym. Run errands. That sort of thing. But instead, he was about ninety-nine percent certain he was going to grab a bagel and join Ray on the couch. Maybe he’d even unearth his own pair of slippers.

As he opened the door to the fridge, he noticed a sticky note that had fallen to the ground and gotten stuck between the edge of the refrigerator and the baseboard. Bending down, Patrick intended to simply toss the note in the garbage, but his eyes zeroed in on his name.

“Ray?” he called. “Did I have a message?”

“Not this morning.”

He shuffled back out of the kitchen, holding the note up in his hand for Ray to see. “Do you know when this is from?”

“Oh, yes!” Ray exclaimed. He screwed up his face in contemplation before snapping his fingers. “It was Thursday. I had just finished the Andersons’ photo shoot when Twyla brought it up from downstairs. She said she didn’t want you to miss it.”

Patrick furrowed his brow at the note, unsure if it was important or not. The name wasn’t someone he recognized.

“I think it must be your drycleaning because she said the man was calling about returning your shirt.”

Patrick’s heart just about stopped in his chest at the words. David! David Rose was calling him. David Rose had looked up the number for his store and called him. Abandoning all thoughts of breakfast, Patrick practically sprinted back into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him before diving onto his bed in search of his phone.

 _Get a grip,_ he told himself, even as shaking fingers typed in the number. _He’s just returning the shirt he borrowed. Nothing more._

The line connected and rang twice before a bored sounding woman answered the phone.

“Hazelton Hotel.”

“Oh! Uh…” Patrick startled, not expecting a hotel. “Hi, I’m calling for David Rose?”

The woman on the other end went silent for a moment, then simply said “Nope!” and hung up.

Scrunching up his face in confusion, Patrick picked up the note again. He’d dialed the right number. It made sense for David to give him the number to the hotel and not his actual phone number. For all that he’d borrowed Patrick’s shirt and kissed him on the mouth, they were practically strangers. Patrick could be a deranged stalker for all David knew.

As his thumb hovered over the redial button, his eyes flicked up to the name on the note. A name he didn’t recognize. A totally different name than David Rose.

“Hazelton Hotel.”

The same woman answered the phone again, sounding even less enthused than she had the first time.

“Hi,” Patrick said again, more confident this time. “I just called, but we seem to have gotten disconnected. I’m calling to speak with...Mark Darcy?”

“That’s not the name you said before.”

“No,” Patrick replied, dragging out the word somewhat, unsure of where the conversation was going. He wasn’t sure why David had given him a fake name, and he didn’t want to be hung up on again.

“You’re the guy with the shirt, aren’t you?” the woman asked.

“Um…” Patrick hedged, not sure how to answer the question. David had said it was best not to tell anyone about what had happened, so he hadn’t, keeping the incident to himself and memories of the kiss in his dreams. But it looked like maybe David wasn’t quite as discreet if this hotel worker knew about it.

“You are,” the woman went on. “I can tell. Thought you’d make him wait, huh? Pretty ballsy taking three whole days to call him back.”

“Oh, no!” Patrick was quick to correct the woman. “I only just got the message. See, my assistant manager gave it to my roommate and then he tried to stick it on the fridge, but I guess it fell before-”

The woman cut him off with a loud sigh. “Okay, I’ve lost interest in this. Let me transfer you. Don’t mess this up!”

The line went silent for several seconds until another voice came on the line, sending a warm shiver down Patrick’s spine.

“Hello?”

“David?” Patrick asked, immediately blushing at how breathless and eager he sounded. “Uh, hi. This is...this is Patrick. Patrick Brewer. We met the other day when you came into my store and then I accidentally spilled a smoothie on you?

“You certainly took your time calling back.”

Patrick winced at the tartness in David’s voice. “I’m sorry about that, but I only just got the message. You talked to my assistant manager who gave the message to my roommate who-”

“The one with all the octopus stuffies.”

“Exactly, yes!” Patrick breathed easier now that there was a hint of amusement in David’s voice. “He stuck the note on our fridge, but I guess it fell. I just found it on the floor.” In a desperate bid, Patrick decided to just lay everything out in the open. “I didn’t even wait two minutes before calling you back.”

“Is that so?”

Patrick could practically hear the pleased smirk in David’s voice and a rush of warmth flooded through him. Were they flirting? Is that what was happening, was he actually _flirting_ with David Rose?

“Yeah. I mean, the fake name did throw me for a second, but then I heard you wanted to return my shirt. My roommate thought you were my drycleaning.”

David snorted. “Sorry, but considering the state of this shirt you gave me, I doubt you own anything that needs to be dry cleaned.”

“Hey!” Patrick tried to feel offended, but he could only laugh at the truth of David’s assumption. “I’ll have you know, I don’t even separate whites and darks when I do laundry.”

“I feel physically ill right now.”

“So I should wait until you have a bucket in front of you before I tell you I don’t have a regular brand of laundry detergent, I just buy whatever’s on sale?”

“Do you mean to tell me that a shirt that was cleaned with _bargain laundry detergent_ touched my skin?”

“This is correct.”

“I think I need to peel my skin off now.”

Patrick laughed, his nervousness leached out of him. David still left him a tad starstruck, but it was becoming easier to talk to him. David was _funny_ . He was sharp and self aware and Patrick wished very much that he would get the chance to know more of David, the _real_ David, the one behind the kale.

“No wonder you want to return the shirt.”

“I want to burn it,” David said, his disgust clear. But then his voice dropped, becoming soft and breathy, sending heat straight to Patrick’s groin. “But I did also want to thank you for letting me borrow it.”

“Uh...yeah,” Patrick stuttered out, the nerves instantly returning. “Yeah, I...I mean, you’re welcome.”

“Are you busy later?”

Patrick’s mind went completely blank. His tongue darted out, licking his lips, trying to return the moisture to his suddenly dry mouth. “No.”

“You should come by,” David purred. “Say around 5? I don’t like to eat late. We could order some room service. Have dinner. _Talk._ "

Patrick gulped. There was no way he was being propositioned by David Rose. That was too absurd an idea to even fathom. And yet…

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

Patrick felt ridiculous. He’d changed his outfit four times before settling on a navy blazer over a soft blue shirt, but he knew there was nothing he could wear that would be anywhere near the same league as David Rose. It was silly trying to impress him.

As he walked through the front entrance of the Hazelton, he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. The hotel was large and it was fancy, and a low hum of sophisticated energy buzzed beneath Patrick’s skin. He had no idea where he was supposed to go, but thankfully he spotted a concierge desk and made his way over.

“I’m looking for the Bellair Suite,” Patrick said to the woman at the desk. _STEVIE_ , her name badge read. She was staring down at the desk, and when she tucked her long brown hair behind her ear, Patrick could see she was looking at a game of solitaire on her phone.

“Fourth floor,” she answered without looking up.

It took Patrick a moment to find the elevator. When the door opened, he entered, pressing the button for the fourth floor with a nervous breath. He tried to tell himself that this was nothing, that David truly just wanted an early dinner and a chat, but he couldn’t get David’s voice out of his head, the way he had practically growled out the word _talk._ Just thinking about it made Patrick’s dick twitch in his pants. No way this was just a simple chat he had been invited to.

As it turned out, Patrick was correct, just not in the way he had assumed. When he exited the elevator, he was met by a hoard of men and women coming and going from the suite he was headed towards.

 _This can’t be right_ , Patrick told himself, and for a moment, he thought he should turn tail and flee. But his curiosity got the best of him and he followed another man through the door to the Bellair Suite, joining the throng of people within.

“Hello!” a bright voice called out, and a woman in a soft pink floral dress fluttered over to them through the crowd, waving with both hands. Patrick stared dumbly as the man beside him reached out to shake the woman’s hand, then did the same when she offered it to Patrick.

“Um, hi,” the woman continued, grabbing two folders from a stack on a little table beside the door, handing one to Patrick. “So, um, these are your press packets. As you can see we’re running just a teensy bit behind, but everything you need to know you’ll find in there. What did you think?”

Patrick’s mouth bobbed open and closed, his brain a cloud of static, but luckily the man beside him took the lead with his opinion, something about Godard and Fritz Lang and _Sunrise Bay_ that made little sense to Patrick, but made the woman hum appreciatively. When she turned her attention to Patrick he just smiled weakly and agreed.

“Mmkay...oh! You never told me what publications you’re from!”

Patrick didn’t even hear the other man’s answer, too busy frantically wracking his brains to think of a the name of a magazine. This could not possibly be what David had invited him to, but all Patrick could think about was getting out alive.

His eyes landed on a basket of magazines shoved haphazardly beneath a table, and without thinking, Patrick blurted out the title of the one on top.

“ _Today’s Trucking_!” he said desperately, before instantly regretting it, the semi-truck pictured on the front cover staring back at him mockingly.

The woman’s eyes widened and she offered him a bemused smile. “Well! That sounds great!” she said, pointing a manicured finger in his direction and shimmying her shoulders with each word. “Um, why don’t you two just sit over here and I’ll call you when they’re ready for you.”

Patrick allowed himself to be shepherded over to a settee in the corner of the room, but as the woman turned to leave, Patrick regained enough of his self awareness to stop her.

“Excuse me,” he said, gently touching her elbow, “but my name’s Patrick Brewer, and I think he’s actually expecting me.”

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” the woman replied, looking at him doubtfully, “but I will go check.”

Patrick sat down gingerly, scanning the crowd and planning his escape for when things went south, but thankfully the woman came back to collect him almost immediately.

“David,” the woman said crisply as she led Patrick into another room, empty but for David standing beside a large window. He turned as they entered, his eyes flying past the woman and landing hungrily on Patrick. “We are _seriously_ behind, so you have _five minutes._ I mean it.”

“I’m pretty sure you work for _me,_ Alexis, not the other way around.”

She crossed the floor with a huff, ushering Patrick into a chair and smiling sweetly at him, before glaring at David. In a lowered voice that Patrick was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear, she said, “Just so you know, you are being more of a diva than _mom_ right now.” Then with her voice back to normal as David rolled his eyes at her, she said, “This is Patrick Brewer from _Today’s Trucking_. Five minutes.”

With a flick of her hair, she left the room, but based on the gleeful expression David turned on Patrick, he didn’t notice.

“ _T_ _oday’s Trucking_?”

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh, even as a blush bloomed across his face. “I didn’t know what was happening! I showed up like you said and there were all these people here and she asked, so I…”

“Is that even a real magazine?”

“Realer than the name you gave my assistant manager.”

David scoffed. “It’s a privacy thing. I always use the name of someone from rom-com. That you’ve never seen the classic _Bridget Jones_ trilogy says something about _you, not_ me.”

The door opened and Alexis walked back in, scanning through the pages of a clipboard set on a table by the door. David’s easy demeanor evaporated, but he raised his eyebrows in Patrick’s direction pointedly.

“Uh...yes,” Patrick floundered, trying to think of anything to say. “Um...well...the readers at…” he trailed off, suddenly forgetting the name of the magazine he was supposedly from.

“ _Today’s Trucking,_ ” David prompted.

“Right!” He glanced in Alexis’ direction, but they were seemingly unheard. “Okay. Um...the readers at _Today’s Trucking_ are curious on your thoughts about...well, about trucks.”

Patrick winced. He did not think David’s eyebrows could climb any further up his forehead.

“Well, obviously, the trucking industry is a vital part of this great nation, but as this film was only set in one room, you can understand why there was not a lot of...representation.”

“Uh huh.”

Thankfully, before Patrick had to try his hand at coming up with another interview question, Alexis left the room again and David’s hands flew to his face.

“What the fuck?”

“I don’t…” Patrick shrugged helplessly, the stress of the situation suddenly catching up to him and his voice weakened. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sorry.” David sat down on the sofa across from Patrick, a look of anxiety flickering across his face. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I thought this would all be done by now. I told Stevie to look out for you, but she must have missed you.”

Patrick decided not to mention the solitaire.

“I just...I think I should apologize,” David continued. “For kissing you, I mean. And for anything I may have implied on the phone. That was...that was probably...a mistake. I’m not sure what came over me, exactly, but clearly it was not the thing to do.”

Patrick didn’t reply right away. He had become mesmerized by David’s hands. They seemed to always be moving, sometimes wringing together in his lap, sometimes flying through the air as he spoke. They were almost hypnotic, and Patrick felt he would be content to watch them for a long time.

The words David had spoken eventually permeated Patrick’s brain, and he frowned. This wasn’t what he had been expecting at all when he’d shown up.

“No,” he finally croaked out. “No, don’t be sorry. It was...nice.”

David’s only response was to smile softly and look down at his hands.

“It’s not the sort of thing to happen in real life.” Patrick continued. “Kissing David Rose.”

Immediately, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. David’s eyes flew back up to his, but they were shuttered. Patrick tried to backtrack. “To me, anyway. It doesn't happen to me. Meeting someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” David repeated, letting Patrick know quite clearly that he had not taken his words as a compliment.

“I can’t figure you out, David Rose.” It was true. The David he had spoken to on the phone and the David he was seeing here in front of him were like night and day. What could have changed in the hours leading up now? What made David run so hot and cold? “But I’d like to,” he finished.

Before David could respond, Alexis bustled back into the room. “Okay!” she said excitedly. “Did we get everything we need?”

“Almost.”

“Well, I’m going to go get the next guy,” she said, both of her hands gesturing towards the door. “So, you have time for one more teensy question.”

Once they were alone again, Patrick turned back to David, taking a deep breath to muster his courage. Whatever David had been thinking when he’d asked Patrick over was long gone, but Patrick had one shot to try to get them back to that place. Just to see what could happen.

David looked at him expectantly.

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

David blinked twice, his brow furrowing as if considering the question, but as the door opened again, with Alexis leading another woman into the room, it smoothed back into his usual detachment.

“Yes.”

His heart sinking, Patrick smiled sadly back at David, and he nodded. He stood, holding out his hand for David to shake, doing his best to keep up appearances, and if he held on just a little too long, he was sure no one would notice.

As he crossed through the outer room, he realized he still hadn’t gotten his shirt back from David. Wasn’t that the point of this meeting? He hesitated, wondering if he should go back, wrap up that little loose end, but his courage failed him. He was just about to slip through the door when he heard Alexis calling his name.

“Mr. Brewer?” He turned at the sound and let her steer him in a different direction. Maybe David wasn’t finished with him after all. But instead of David, she led him to a different room, and in his confusion, he almost didn’t hear her say, “We’ll just rush you through the others.”

“Others?” he repeated, horrified as the meaning of her words dawned on him.

“Okay!” she said brightly. “This is Patrick Brewer from _Today’s Trucking._ You have five minutes!”


	3. Chapter 3

The elevator door opened with a cheerful _ding_ , but Patrick almost couldn’t make his feet work well enough to drag him forward. He was numb. There wasn’t any other way to describe the nightmare that he had just experienced. Stung from David’s rejection (which was just ridiculous, he told himself, why would _David Rose_ of all people agree to a date with him), he was dragged from room to room, forced to keep up his reporter charade. The humiliation, _the indignity_ , of blundering through question after question was more than Patrick thought possible for one person to endure. And all the while, David’s sister was there, whisking him excitedly into the next interview with her infectious energy and her encouraging blinks and her shoulder shimmies.

All Patrick wanted to do after such an ordeal, was go home and crawl into bed, possibly never to be heard from again. But as he stumbled through the hotel lobby towards freedom, he heard someone call out his name.

“Hey, Brewer!”

For one brief moment, Patrick thought very seriously of ignoring the person, or better yet, flipping them off before simply booking it to the exit. But his mother had brought him up better than that.

Though, even Marcy Brewer could not have kept the grimace off Patrick’s face as he turned towards the woman sitting at the front desk.

“Don’t go yet,” she said, one shoulder hunched, holding a phone to her ear as her fingers clicked over her keyboard.

He took the few steps between him and the front desk and collapsed, folding his arms into a pillow for his head as he waited, taking the time to contemplate all the life choices he made that had led to this moment.

Finally, the woman ( _Stevie_ , Patrick reminded himself) put down the phone. “They need you back upstairs.”

“No.” He didn’t move from his slumped over position, too exhausted to even lift his head. A finger reached out, flicking him right in the temple, and he barely even flinched.

“I don’t think you heard me,” Stevie said. “They _need you back upstairs_.”

Something in Stevie’s voice finally penetrated the fog in Patrick’s brain and he looked up into her face, taking in the raised eyebrows and the pursed lips. When he didn’t say anything, Stevie scoffed and shook her head, rolling her eyes at his inaction.

“I told you not to mess this up.”

Patrick looked at her agape. “Me? What did _I_ do?”

Stevie sighed in annoyance, crossing her arms over her chest. “Look, just go back upstairs. Alexis is waiting for you.”

“I think I’ve had enough interviews for one day, thanks.”

Stevie stared back at him, meeting his challenge gaze for gaze, before finally she shrugged, slumping back in her seat, her attention once again lost to a game of solitaire.

Patrick groaned. Despite knowing that she was ignoring him on purpose just to get a rise out of him, despite every part of his body telling him it was a mistake to take the bait, Patrick pushed himself off the front desk and trudged back towards the elevator, a sarcastic “Atta-boy!” following behind.

When the elevator doors opened again onto the fourth floor, Alexis was there to meet him, her hands clasping together in delight.

“Oh yay! Stevie was able to catch you just in time. Now, I’m _so_ sorry about this,” she said briskly, leading Patrick back through the suit towards the room he had met David in earlier, “but David said he needed to, like, clarify a quote he gave you.”

Before he was ready, the door was flung open and Patrick was ushered back into the room. David was standing as he had been before, staring out the window, but he turned upon their entrance, his hands held in front of him, fingers twisting the silver rings Patrick knew he was famous for.

“After this, you’re all done, Mr. Brewer,” Alexis said, as she began to pull the door closed behind him. "Don't let my brother keep you too long!"

David made a face, but Patrick smiled, calling out a quick, “I won’t!” as she finished closing the door.

When he turned back, he saw that David had moved closer, taking almost tentative steps towards him.

“Hi,” was all David said, soft and uncertain.

“Hi.”

Patrick waited for David to say more. He could feel his heart rate increase and his palms go sweaty, so he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, willing himself not to get his hopes up.

“So, I…” David cleared his throat and tried again. “The, um...the event I was to attend tomorrow is...well, I’m no longer attending.”

Again Patrick waited. He could tell from his face that David was hoping that would be enough, but Patrick needed more. Finally, with a resigned sigh and a roll of his eyes, David continued.

“So if your offer for tomorrow night still stands, then I would like that very much.”

“Yes,” Patrick answered, followed by an immediate, “No!”

David blinked, gesturing with one hand towards Patrick as he said, “Okay, I think I’m getting some mixed messages here.”

“No, it’s just…ugh!” Patrick clapped his hands to his face. How could he have forgotten? “It’s my mother’s birthday tomorrow. Me and some friends of mine, we...we always throw her a little dinner party.”

“I like a good birthday party.”

Patrick’s face scrunched in confusion. “You want to go to my mother’s birthday party?”

“Sure,” David shrugged. “I mean, if it’s anything like my mother’s last birthday party, I’m sure to at least get a good story out of it. It’s not every day a person gets to watch their mother sing a cabaret rendition of _Candle in the Wind_ while Ryan Seacrest goes on an accidental acid trip and almost drowns in an Olympic sized pool.”

Patrick laughed sharply before he realized David probably wasn’t joking. “Okay, well none of that will be happening tomorrow. We’re just going to have dinner. Maybe a party game or two. No acid, no pools, no celebrity talk show hosts. Though I can’t promise no singing.”

“I can accept that offer. It’s...it’s a date.”

Patrick grinned. “It’s a date.”

* * *

If Patrick had thought he was nervous when he brought David into his apartment, it was nothing compared to the terror that flooded through him as he led David up the little stone walkway to his parents’ house. He’d grown up in that house. There were baby pictures in that house. His childhood bedroom was in that house, complete with baseball trophies and academic certifications and his first guitar. He couldn’t begin to imagine what David would think of it all.

And then, of course, there were his parents.

Marcy and Clint Brewer were perfectly nice people, thank you very much, but they weren’t exactly _glamorous._ They were solid, steady people who loved their only son fiercely and enjoyed a quiet, simple life on the outskirts of the city. They certainly didn’t court fame and fortune the way David’s family did.

He hadn’t told them. It was enough just to hear his mother’s excitement when he told her he was bringing a man home to meet her, and he kind of wished this wouldn’t be the first time. He knew they loved him, he knew they supported him, but the last person he brought home to meet them, he married. Somehow, he doubted that would be the case this time around.

Patrick took a breath as he reached for the doorbell, closing his eyes in a bid for strength, but it was David’s fingers dancing across his shoulders before giving him a quick squeeze that gave him the final push. He turned to look behind him, David’s shy twisted smile almost taking his breath away before the door was flung open.

“Come in, come in!” his mother chirped, ushering them into the soft warmth of the house. Delicious smells and loud curses wafted through from the kitchen, and Marcy led them into the living room with a bustle in her step and an exclamation of her own.

“Clint!” she called, continuing into the kitchen where her husband seemed to have declared war on her kitchenware. “Clint, the boys are here!”

Patrick began to apologize for his parents, but the words died on his lips. Instead, he stood silent, watching David make his way to the fireplace to study the collection of photos on the mantle - a newborn Patrick crying in his father’s arms, an eight-year-old Patrick with missing front teeth and a mop of curls spilling out under a toque, a teenaged Patrick with a guitar in his hand. David’s fingers traced delicately over the mismatched frames, a wistful smile on his lips, as he drank up the mundane beauty of the life Patrick had lived.

“You had curls.”

Of all the things David could have said, that was not what Patrick expected.

“I did.”

David turned, eyeing Patrick critically, trying to imagine what those same tumbling curls would look like now.

“You’d look good if you grew them out again.”

Patrick crossed his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows in challenge. “What, I don’t look good now?”

David rolled his eyes and Patrick couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face.

“That’s not what I said. Just…” He turned back to the mantle and gently picked up a frame, bringing the photo of a laughing, curly-haired kid closer to his face. His eyes sharpened like he was studying the photo, searching for something. Patrick held his breath, wanting to know what David would say, but he shook his head and replaced the photo. “Forget it.”

Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but before the words could come, they were interrupted.

“Ugh, should never let that man into my kitchen,” Marcy muttered under her breath as she returned to more officially welcome them in. “Patrick, why don’t you introduce me to your - oh!” Marcy stopped short when she finally took a good look at David, recognizing him immediately. “Oh my, you’re...you’re David Rose!”

David’s smile was genuine but hesitant as he reached out a hand towards Marcy. A soft “hi” was all he said.

“You’re...I...well, this is so unexpected!” Marcy bypassed the offered hand and went straight in for a big hug. Patrick watched David’s back go stiff and his eyes go wide but didn’t intervene, pressing his lips together to hide his smile. “You are so welcome here,” Marcy continued in a breathless voice. She let David go then clapped both hands to his face. “I never would have guessed Patrick would bring home a man of such talent.”

“Hey!”

Marcy waved off Patrick’s interjection, letting go of David’s face, only to take hold of his hands and lead him over the sofa in the corner of the room.

“I mean, you...that last film you were in”-Patrick snorted at the word _film_ , a word his mother would never normally use-“was simply breathtaking. You just broke my heart.”

“Thank you.”

“And oh! You were just _robbed_ at the Oscars last year. Not even a nomination? It was just disgraceful.”

“Oh, well-”

“And _you two!_ ” Marcy let out the most dramatic sigh, clutching her chest as her eyes fluttered closed, the depth of her romantic imaginings too much to keep them open. “Oh, I just want to hear everything. How you met, how he won you over. Don’t leave out a single detail, dinner will keep!”

“He bought a book at the shop and then I spilled a smoothie on him, Mom.” Patrick rolled his eyes and plopped himself down on the ottoman beside them. “It’s not a movie.”

“Oh, you hush.” Marcy waved a dismissive hand in Patrick’s direction, her eyes never leaving David’s face. “Don’t ruin it.”

A small smile appeared on David’s face at the teasing between mother and son, and Patrick couldn’t help but smile back. He wanted David to feel welcome here, to enjoy meeting his family and friends. He wanted to see that small, private smile again and again.

“It’s true,” David piped up, his eyes catching Patrick’s before turning back to Marcy. “I bought a book from his shop and then he spilled a smoothie on me. Destroyed one of my favorite sweaters, but he was a total gentleman and took me to his place to clean up. Even loaned me a t-shirt to wear.”

“Which you haven’t given back by the way.”

“Mmkay, I thought we agreed that I could burn it.”

Before the conversation could go much further, there was a loud knocking from outside, the sound of voices muffled by the door.

“That’ll be the strays,” Marcy said, taking the time to pat David on the thigh before getting up to answer it.

“The strays?”

Patrick slipped into his mother’s seat beside David and replied, “Some of my friends. We’ve all known each other forever, and when we were kids they just used to show up. And since they always wanted to eat, Mom started calling them her strays."

"Think they'll like me?"

It was a real question, Patrick could tell, even though David said it with a toss of his head and a winning smile. He slipped his hand into David's, heart beating fast as he entwined their fingers and gave it a squeeze.

"I like you," he whispered.

He wasn't sure if David heard. The words were still passing his lips as his friends tramped into the room, all talking over each other and hollering their _hellos_ towards Clint in the kitchen. Patrick dropped David's hand, and they both stood, ready to greet the newcomers.

It almost felt like slow motion, the moment his friends noticed there was someone else in the room. Three faces went blank with surprise before recognition registered and the cacophony of their exclamations.

“You brought a man home!”

“Oh my god, you’re David Rose!”

“This is so exciting!”

“Bring it in, bud!”

“How did you meet a movie star?”

“You brought this guy home to eat _Clint’s_ cooking?”

“My mom’s ex-boyfriend was on TV one time. He led the police in a high-speed car chase!”

David’s eyes had gone comically wide. How three people could make so much noise was a question yet to be answered. He took a step back, letting Patrick shield him from the hugs and the back-slapping, and listening to the threads of love and friendship that undercut all the teasing. David’s face pinched into a grimaced smile, unsure how to react to such good-hearted wholesomeness.

“Well, as you guys have already figured out,” Patrick said with a laugh, turning back to David, “this is David. David, this is Twyla. She works at the shop with me. Ted and Mutt and I all played baseball together in high school. Ted’s a vet now. And Mutt...he, um...”

“I have a pinecone farm outside the city.”

David blinked, waiting for the punchline, but none ever came.

“Kids!” Clint called out from the kitchen, interrupting them before further pinecone information could be offered. “Dinner’s on the table!”

While Marcy and Patrick’s friends tramped into the kitchen, the noise level only slightly less than the din of their entrance, Patrick hung back, offering David a reassuring smile. “You okay?” he asked.

David took a deep breath but nodded. “Yep. Yeah, I think so.”

“You good for more?”

Again, David nodded, but before Patrick could lead him into the kitchen, he tugged on Patrick’s hand, holding him back, and whispered, “What’s a pinecone farm?”

Patrick just shook his head with a laugh and guided David forward, a warm hand at the small of his back.

With the shock of David’s presence worn off, things settled down. Patrick watched David carefully, ready to step in at any point, but it wasn't needed. David was charmingly prickly, clearly ill-prepared to handle Ted's puns or Twyla's family history or Mutt's pinecone farm, but he managed to sidestep any real landmines. His own contributions to the conversation were just as well-received, stories of fame and excess that both thrilled and horrified Patrick's family, and in return his family had plied David with recounts of every one of Patrick’s most embarrassing moments.

Clint, who was somehow even more pop culture averse than Patrick, managed to ask David about no less than _three_ movies he definitely didn't star in, with Marcy becoming more and more agitated with every blunder. The smile Clint was hiding told Patrick that he knew what he doing, riling up Marcy just to watch David blush as her responses became less corrections of Clint’s misinformation and more praise for David’s very existence.

As Twyla broke in to recount yet another anecdote from her family's past, David's hand found Patrick's. His fingers were sure as they tangled with Patrick's, his palm warm and soft. Patrick held his breath, the gentle pressure of David’s thumb caressing over his knuckles making him shiver. They didn’t speak, didn’t even look at each other, just smiled inwardly as they kept eating.

When the dinner plates were cleared away for the birthday cake, Clint noticed the sizeable amount of salad left on David’s plate.

“You’ll have to teach us the proper way to do it sometime, David,” he said good-naturedly, used to the ribbing Patrick and his friends had always given him for his less than stellar attempts at cooking throughout the year. “Can’t say I’ve ever attempted to massage a vegetable before.”

“Oh no,” David stammered, a blush blooming high on his cheeks. “I’m sure...I’m sure it was fine, I just...I actually, um, just really don’t like kale?”

“Good thing the cake is chocolate!”

“Why would a magazine write that your favorite food is kale if you hate it?” Twyla asked.

David shrugged, fiddling with the rings on his finger. “I’d put on some weight, so my publicist wanted to counter the image. Kale makes me look healthy.”

“Isn’t your publicist your sister?” Patrick frowned. He’d met Alexis, and though it was only for a short amount of time, she didn’t seem quite that shallow. But maybe the bubbly persona was as much of an act as Patrick was learning David’s detachment was.

“Alexis works for Interflix. She’s doing publicity for the movie, but I have my own publicist, Citrus. He’s very health conscious.”

When no one said anything else, David’s eyes went wide and uncertain. “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “It’s not a big deal. Citrus has me on a pretty strict diet right now, but it’s no different than the one my mother put me on during my Little Mister pageant days. It’s just harder to lose weight when you’re not also doing coke.”

David trailed off, his eyes darting from face to face, suddenly very aware of the awkward turn he’d forced the evening into. He turned to Patrick, silently begging for help, but it was Mutt who finally broke the silence.

“And this is why as long as my dad is the Mayor of Toronto, I will continue to live on a pinecone farm.”

“You mean so the press doesn’t find your coke?”

The group laughed, taking turns making up increasingly outlandish scandals for Mutt to hide from the press. David breathed out a slow breath, slumping back in his chair and turning an apologetic smile to Patrick.

By the time Clint had finished serving the cake, a lopsided chocolate monstrosity that tasted divine, the conversation was long forgotten.

* * *

“So?”

They were in Patrick’s car, driving David wasn’t sure where. Probably back to his hotel, but neither was ready for the night to end. David had been staring out the window, just watching the bright lights flash by in the blackened night sky, but at the sound of Patrick’s voice, he turned with a hum.

“Was it everything you hoped for? No accidental drownings, no acid trips. Just the same old boring stories and a lopsided birthday cake.”

David leaned back in his seat, his head lolling to the side so he could gaze at Patrick’s profile. He reached out, laying his hand on Patrick’s thigh - nothing suggestive, just proof that he was there.

“Your family’s nice. I liked them.”

“They liked you, too.”

“Mmm.” David’s hum was noncommittal, like he didn’t quite believe Patrick, but didn’t want to argue. “I was glad to be spared the singing you threatened. I’m not sure I could have handled something quite so wholesome.”

“Well, Mutt left his fringed vest back at the farm and we just can’t perform if we don’t all match.”

“How very _Partridge Family_ of you.”

“ _Hello world, hear the song that we’re singin’,_ ”

“Ugh, make it stop!”

Patrick laughed, taking his eyes off the road just long enough to catch David’s eye and notice the dimple in his cheek.

 _God, he’s beautiful when he smiles_.

“Don’t take me back to the hotel yet.”

Patrick didn’t answer, just flipped on his blinker and changed lanes, turning at the next block. He knew exactly where he was going to take David.

It didn’t take them long. His parent’s house was already almost outside of the city, so the drive to the park was nothing. It was empty, of course, by this time of night, but they pulled into the gravel lot and climbed out of the car. David looked at Patrick questioningly, but Patrick just jerked his head and led David forward, turning off the worn paths into the trees.

“Okay, this wasn’t exactly what I meant, so I have to ask...you promise you’re not secretly an ax murder, right? You’re not like a kidnapper who’s going to demand ransom from my parents? Because while they’d have the money to pay the ransom, I’m not entirely sure they’d remember to send it.”

Patrick slipped his hand in David’s leading him further into the wooded area.

“It’s just...okay, I do Coachella every year, but this is a little more nature than I’m used to.”

“You’re fine, David, I promise.”

“You say that now, but you should know I don’t do well with moths.”

Patrick laughed, squeezing tight to David’s hand. “You say that like I should be surprised.”

“That’s not nice.”

Patrick didn’t respond, just squeezed David’s hand one more time and kept walking. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to bring David here, to this little clearing in the woods, just outside the city. But it was his spot. It was the spot he and his friends had whiled away their teenaged years, where they had worked through their problems and told each other their secrets. It was the place he’d taken Rachel on their first date and the night he’d proposed. It was where she had asked him for a divorce. It was the place he’d found the courage to finally say _I’m gay_ out loud and where his friends had toasted him for his truth.

Whatever this was with David Rose - whether it became something or stayed as one week where he got to live out a dream - he wanted to be able to come to this spot and think of him.

There wasn't much to the clearing - a bench, some flattened rocks big enough to sit on. A large tree grew in the middle, branches stretching up to touch the sky. As they stepped out, Patrick could see David's eyes dart back and forth, looking for a reason for them to be there, and he knew he was going to have to explain.

"I must say, this isn't doing much to reassure me about the whole ax murderer thing," David said.

"If I was an ax murderer, don't you think I would have done it by now? Like when you were in my home?"

"I don't know!" David threw both of his hands up and amused exasperation. "As I am not an ax murderer, I can't be asked to explain their thought processes."

Patrick stood in front of David, hands shoved in his pockets. “You told me not to take you back to the hotel. This is where I go when I don’t want to go home. This is where I’ve gone my whole life. I mean,”-he turned, looking at the thicket of trees surrounding them-“sometimes I’d hike through the woods. If you head just a little bit further east, there’s actual trails and stuff, but here I just...like to come and sit.”

David’s eyes softened and he reached out, fluttering his fingers up Patrick’s arms and squeezing his shoulders. Patrick led him over to the bench, hiding his smile as David gingerly tested out the weathered wooden slats. Slowly, he allowed it to take more and more of his weight until he was fully seated, then patted the open space next to him for Patrick to join him.

“I forget what the stars look like sometimes,” David said softly. Patrick draped his arm over David’s shoulders, and he leaned back, turning his face up to the sky. “When you spend all your time in LA or New York, you forget what the world looks like without fluorescent lighting.”

Patrick didn’t answer, just ran his hand up and down David’s am, the knit of David’s sweater soft beneath his fingers.

“There’s something romantic about this place. I don’t know what it is, but I feel it.”

Patrick squeezed David’s shoulder. It wasn’t his romance David could feel. Not the failed marriage he shouldn’t have attempted, but he knew exactly what David meant.

“You see that tree over there?” he asked, pointing at the one in front of them. “Can you see what’s carved in the trunk?”

There was no way David could make it out in the darkness, so he stood, wandering over to the tree to trace the carving with his hand. It was roughly done, probably just with a pocket knife. “M...J...C...B...78. What’s that mean?”

Patrick joined him beside the tree. “Marcy Jones and Clint Brewer. 1978. The year they met. Fell in love.”

“Your parents?”

Patrick nodded. “They were eighteen. Got married out of high school. They wanted a big family, but it didn’t work out. They tried for years, didn’t think they would have kids at all, but I finally came along twelve years later and that was it. I think that’s why they love the strays so much. It’s different than what they planned, but it ended up being a happy life. They love each other just as much now as they did all those years ago.”

Patrick looked up, startled by the sniffle he heard beside him. David’s head was thrown back, his face pinched, and his hands clutched to his chest. “I think that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. And I know romance. I’ve seen all the movies.”

“How come you’ve never been in one? A rom-com. You seem to have an affinity for it.”

David scoffed, gingerly dabbing at his eyes. “The era of the rom-com is over. That’s not where the acclaim is now. Or the money. No one would want to see me in that.”

“There’s more to life than money, David.”

“Like what, fringed vest? Octopus stuffies?”

“Yes. And the stars.”

David turned a surprised face to Patrick. They gazed at each other in the moonlight, their breathing the only thing they could hear. Patrick was sure he could see every single star in the sky reflected back at him in David’s eyes, but before he could count them all, David took one step closer and enveloped him in a kiss.

This time, Patrick was ready for it. He wrapped his arms around David’s waist, his hands holding tight, and kissed him back. His lips parted, welcoming David inside with a soft sigh. David's lips were just as warm and soft as they had been the first time, but there was a longing in the kiss that hadn’t been there before. Patrick allowed himself to be backed up against the tree trunk, the carving of his parents’ initials seared into his body. David pressed himself forward until they were chest to chest, thigh to thigh, and only then did he pull back for air.

Nosing against Patrick’s cheek, David whispered, “What are you doing tomorrow?”


	4. Chapter 4

Patrick knew this wasn’t sustainable. He couldn’t keep leaving Twyla alone in the shop. He couldn’t keep giving to something he knew could never grow into anything more. But he just couldn’t help it. There was just something about David’s smile, something about the dry sarcasm in his voice and the way he fidgeted with his rings. There was something in the way his hand felt in Patrick’s - so soft and warm and steady - that just felt right.

It had taken some time for Patrick to figure himself out, to realize that he was gay. It had taken him marrying and breaking the heart of a woman he used to think of as his best friend before he had finally been able to recognize himself. And there had been men in his life since then, but nothing for long. No one who could make his heart pound and his palms sweat and his tongue stumble over its words.

No one except David, that is.

It wasn’t until David’s lips were on his that Patrick finally understood all the fuss about first kisses. And then second kisses. And then third and fourth and fifth kisses. David held him against that tree for so long, kissing Patrick so deeply and passionately. He felt David, hard against his hip, and he knew his own arousal was pressed into the thick muscle of David’s thigh, but both men ignored it, content to spend the evening sharing nothing but sweet kisses.

By the time Patrick dropped David back off at his hotel with promises to pick him up again in the next day ( _just not before ten_ , David had warned, ’ _cause I’m not really a morning person)_ , Patrick’s lips felt almost bruised with overuse, swollen and sensitive. His tongue peeked out to lick over them the whole way home, the tingling taste of David still there. And when he arrived home, tiptoeing across the floor so as not to awaken his roommate and accidentally get caught up in a late-night chat, Patrick barely made it into his bedroom before he was slumped against the door with his jeans undone, fisting his aching cock. In no time at all, Patrick came across his fingers, his teeth digging into the knuckles of his other hand to muffle breathless cries.

After his orgasm, Patrick assumed he would struggle to sleep, that his mind would be too wound up in thoughts of David, but instead, he was out almost as soon as his head had hit the pillow, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep. He woke up feeling more refreshed and energetic than he had in months and had his apartment cleaned, his closet reorganized, and was halfway through redesigning the floor plan of The General Store before it was finally time to pick up David.

Patrick couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his lips when he saw him. Wearing another pair of artfully distressed black jeans and a white t-shirt with fangs on the front, David had completed the look with the same white sunglasses from the first day they met, as well as a black toque pulled down over his ears covering his signature coiffed hair.

“Nice hat.”

David slid into the passenger seat of Patrick’s car, immediately adjusting the rearview mirror so he could check himself from several angles, patting his head to make sure the hat was situated just so.

“Thank you so much,” David sniffed, tossing his head once he deemed himself satisfied. “I’m trying to blend in.”

Patrick laughed. “Blend in? With what? You look like you always do, just maybe on a bad hair day.”

With a glare in Patrick’s direction, David readjusted the rearview mirror again, his lips turning down as he studied himself more closely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never had a bad hair day in my life.”

“You know I have to actually use that thing if you want me to drive us anywhere, right?”

David rolled his eyes, tutting at Patrick as he waved his hand in permission at the mirror. With another laugh, Patrick put the rearview mirror back in its proper position and started the car.

Spending time with David was easy. Despite dividing his time between New York and LA, Patrick learned that David was originally from Toronto and knew the city far better than Patrick had expected. They spent the afternoon on a treasure hunt, David directing Patrick to a series of underground boutiques and high-end fashion pop-ups and Patrick dutifully carrying David’s ever-growing collection of purchases. Patrick had never enjoyed shopping before, could never quite understand the joy of digging through piles of bric-a-brac until he found something that spoke to him. But with David, there was such a flurry of activity that Patrick couldn’t help but get swept up with it, and each additional body milk or alpaca throw or antique silver choker was a treasure to be cherished.

Patrick sat on a small spindly chair, watching David try on a mountain of sweaters, offering his (often incorrect, according to David) opinion on each one. There was a form-fitting black one that made Patrick drool over the broad lines of David’s shoulders but David frown over his waistline. There was a knee-length fuzzy white one with black stars stitched into the hem that David clearly adored, but Patrick struggled to keep his composure, almost laughing out loud when David flipped up a hood Patrick had initially missed. There was a soft heather gray one with wooden buttons along the v-neck and a black and white argyle pattern along the bottom half. When David slipped it over his head, Patrick’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart nearly skipped a beat at how beautifully soft and cozy David looked.

How was it possible for his arms to ache to hold someone he met just a few days prior, Patrick wondered.

When he was finished with his own pile, now separated into two stacks of “to keep” and “to discard,” David turned a critical eye towards Patrick.

“Stand up.”

Patrick stood, eyeing David warily. He was suddenly very aware of his own outfit, a standard pair of levis held up with a braided leather belt and a chambray button-up. The words _Canadian tuxedo_ flashed before Patrick’s eyes, and he cringed inwardly. Patrick had never put much thought into his clothing. It was functional and neat. It fit well. But there was no real style to it. For the first time in his life, as David eyed him up and down, his intensely expressive face downturned, Patrick wished he had made more of an effort.

“Stay right there.”

Patrick did as he was told, afraid even to sit down again. He held his breath, tracking David as he made his way through the racks of clothing, only letting it out when David was back in front of him.

“Here, try this on.”

The sweater David handed to him was beautiful and so soft, a deep royal blue with a hidden diamond pattern and burgundy stitching at the neck and wrists. Patrick slipped it over his head, almost afraid to touch. It fit perfectly. Patrick smoothed his hands down the front as he stared at himself in the mirror, eyes flicking up to meet David’s when he stepped up behind Patrick, picking off an invisible bit of lint and pretending to adjust the shoulders.

“Gorgeous,” David breathed in his ear, sending a shiver down Patrick’s spine. “Just like I thought.”

Patrick cleared his throat, not wanting David to hear just how much he was affected by his touch, but his voice still came out more breathless than he would have liked. “You talking to me or the sweater?”

David slid his hands down from Patrick’s shoulders to rest on his hips, pulling him half a step backward until they were flush together, and pressed the softest kiss to the shell of Patrick’s ear. “What do you think?”

Patrick turned in David’s arms, thankful for the relative privacy of the changing area, and pulled him into a kiss; one made all the sweeter when he felt David smiling against his lips. He flicked out his tongue, giggling at David’s indignant squeak, but continued coaxing David’s mouth open until he could lick inside.

“Come to dinner with me,” David mumbled between kisses. “Wear your new sweater.”

“David.” Patrick sighed, dropping his head to David’s shoulder and squeezing his waist. “It’s beautiful, but I just...I can’t afford this sweater.”

“Then let me buy it for you.”

“No, David, you can’t-”

“Please.” With two fingers, David lifted Patrick’s chin so he could press another soft kiss to his lips. “Let me thank you.”

“For what?”

“For...for letting me be a person. For seeing more than just what’s printed in the magazines. For letting me burn that hideous t-shirt you made me wear.”

Patrick pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile. He didn’t love the idea of David spending money on him. He was keenly aware of his own financial situation and couldn’t fathom the depths of his shame if he were to take advantage of David’s generosity. But something was burning in David’s eyes, something like need, so Patrick relented.

“Okay,” he said but couldn’t help tacking on a compromise. “But only if you let me pay for dinner.”

* * *

The restaurant David picked was nothing like Patrick expected. He had been prepared for fine dining, but instead was treated to a hole in the wall Italian bistro with a name David laughed at him for trying to pronounce. The smell of garlic and basil invaded all his senses the moment they stepped over the threshold, making his mouth water and his eyes tear up, and even his fingers tingle in anticipation of the delicious food to come.

They were seated at a booth in the corner. Patrick poured over the menu, sure he would have to remember this place and come back to try every dish. David ordered them a bottle of wine to split and a handmade pizza for himself, smirking when Patrick went classic with a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

“I don’t think you could have ordered a less sexy meal.”

“Really? I think I saw some kale on the menu.”

David shuddered. “Ew, no. I just meant, shoveling noodles into one's mouth is not exactly the most attractive. You wouldn’t want a sloppy mouth now, would you?”

“I think that depends, don’t you?”

Patrick grinned at the face David made, a mixture of horror and arousal. And a few minutes later, when their plates were set in front of them, Patrick stared right in David’s eyes as he slurped a long strand of spaghetti up into his mouth.

With that, the dam was broken, and David tucked into his own food with a gusto Patrick wouldn’t have predicted but was absolutely delighted by. Their conversation halted, and nothing was heard from their table for several minutes except the sounds of two people heartily enjoying their food.

When his pizza was half gone, David sat back in his seat, his head tilted in a way that made Patrick feel like he was being studied.

“So you never told me what happened between you and your wife.”

Patrick choked on his water, his throat burning and his eyes tearing up as he sputtered and coughed to clear his airway. When he was able to look up again, David was still looking at him, calmly waiting for an answer.

“What...uh...what do you want to know?”

“Who left whom?”

David stole a meatball from Patrick’s plate, waiting for Patrick to answer.

“Uh…” Patrick took another sip of water. His eyes drifted out the window as he thought about how best to answer David’s question. It had never been easy talking about his marriage, but with David, he found himself opening up without much effort. “Technically, she left me.”

“Mmm, and what are we getting out of saying by using the word technically?”

A laugh burst out of Patrick before he could stop it. There weren’t many people who would call him out so frankly. With a soft chuckle and a shake of his head, Patrick decided to tell David the whole story.

“Rachel and I met in high school. Right from the start, we would get together and then break up. Get back together and then break up again. We were on and off again for years, all through college and beyond. We wanted to make it work, so we got married. We thought that would finally settle us down, but...turns out it’s not easy for a gay man to settle down with a woman, no matter how great she is.”

“Hmm.” David didn’t ask anything more, but his mouth twitched like another question was just on the tip of his tongue. Patrick wished he would just say it instead of leaving it hanging there. A blush rose on Patrick’s face, and he ducked his head. Of all the different facets to his failed marriage, the fact that it had taken him so long to figure out his sexuality was the thing that embarrassed Patrick the most.

“Even after I...after I figured it out and told her about it, I...I just couldn’t. All those other times, even when I had no good reason for it, it was so easy to walk away. To pull myself above the surface of the water when I was drowning. But with that ring on my finger...it felt like too big of betrayal.”

With a click of his tongue and a comforting noise from the back of his throat, David reached across the table to take Patrick’s hand in his, squeezing it encouragingly.

“Which, of course, just meant she had to do it,” Patrick continued with a self-deprecating laugh. “So not only am I the guy who broke her heart, but I’m also the guy who was too much of a coward to end things.”

“I don’t think you’re a coward.”

Patrick looked up, surprised by the conviction in David’s soft words, and Patrick felt something inside of him snap, releasing a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto for so long. He’d never told anyone that before, never been able to fully express all the shame he felt from the way his marriage had ended. He probably had a long way to go to untangle that whole knot, but David’s easy support was a good start.

“And what about you?” Patrick asked, attempting to steer the conversation into less stormy waters. “I assume someone like David Rose can’t help but leave a trail of broken hearts wherever he goes.”

David’s face performed a series of acrobatics before landing on a grimace. “Yes, well, unfortunately, the broken hearts all seem to be mine.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Patrick leaned back in his seat, taking a long pull of wine, letting the full force of his desire for the man across from him darken his eyes. “Anyone who would let you go is a fool.”

David rolled his eyes with a huff, but Patrick could tell from the flash of his dimple that David was pleased. “Then I have met a lot of fools. Like... _a lot_.”

Patrick knocked his foot against David’s. “Well, I may be a lot of things, David, but I can promise you one thing. I’m not a fool.”

David stared back at him, his eyes wide, and his mouth dropped open slightly. His tongue darted to lick dry lips, and Patrick let his eyes fall to follow the movement. David swallowed hard. His eyes were dark, mirroring the desire in Patrick’s, but there was a softness in them as well. A vulnerability. For all the David could laugh about his heartbreak, Patrick could tell their hurt there as well.

He would give anything to be the one to soothe the burn of David’s heartache.

“So what you’re saying,” David purred, reaching out to trace the tip of one finger over the sensitive skin of Patrick’s inner wrist where it rested against the tabletop, “is that we should skip dessert and maybe have something... _sweet_ back at my hotel?”

Patrick turned his hand over to take hold of David’s, bringing it up to his lips. Gently, Patrick kissed every knuckle, his eyes never leaving David’s face.

“I think that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

* * *

Patrick wasn’t sure how it happened. One second he was laughing, teasing David about the mountain of packages they were lugging down the hallway, and the next, he was staring at a half-naked man wearing nothing but a towel introducing himself as David’s boyfriend.

The man was gorgeous, all hard lines and toned muscles. He held the towel closed around his waist, but it was dangerously close to revealing all his secrets. Any other time, Patrick would have enjoyed the view, but the ashen look on David's face as the man in the towel planted a kiss on his lips had Patrick's heart leaping into his throat.

“Hey, man,” he said, offering his hand in greeting. “I’m Jake.”

“Patrick’s a reporter!” David cut in before Patrick could answer for himself. “He’s doing a piece for his magazine, so we chatted over dinner. Then he was kind enough to help me bring all my shopping back up to the room.”

Jake laughed good-naturedly, taking the bags from Patrick’s hands and stowing them inside the room. “That was decent of you, man. This one has a bit of a retail therapy obsession. It would have been a real struggle on his own!”

David smiled weakly at the joke but didn’t say anything.

“Well, I’d better finish getting dressed,” Jake said, tugging on his towel just enough for Patrick to get a flash of the man’s thigh. “Though now that you’re back, babe, maybe I don’t need to bother.” Jake moved towards to ensuite with a wink at David but turned back around one last time to look Patrick up and down. “Hey, love that sweater, man. Really brings out your lips.”

When they heard the bathroom door close, David grabbed onto Patrick’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, he hissed, fingers digging desperately into the muscle. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s your”-Patrick stopped to swallow down the lump clogging his throat-“that’s your boyfriend?”

“It’s not...he’s…” David covered his mouth with the tips of his fingers, trying to figure out how to answer Patrick’s question, but suddenly Patrick didn’t want to hear it.

“You know what, it’s fine.” Patrick waved his hand, dismissing whatever was going to come out of David’s mouth with a laugh. “I don’t know what I’ve been thinking these last couple of days. You’re David Rose and...who was I pretending to be?”

Patrick turned to go, but David reached out for him again, grabbing onto his arm. “No, Patrick, wait! You’re the only one who’s ever just treated me like a person, and I-”

“Goodbye, David.” Gently, Patrick extricated his arm from David’s grasp. “Looks like I am a fool after all.”

* * *

“Patrick?”

Patrick didn’t move from where he was sprawled on the couch, his eyes glued to the David Rose film on the television, but he grunted in acknowledgment of Ray’s presence.

“Patrick, is something wrong? It’s just, you’ve been listless and very unlike yourself all week.”

It was true, Patrick knew. The sweater David had gifted him had been torn off the second he’d made it home that night, hidden in the back of his closet in a crumpled heap that would have given David heart palpitations. But his broken heart was more difficult to hide.

“I’m fine, Ray.”

“Okay. But I like to think of us as friends just as much as we are roommates. You can talk to me, you know.”

Patrick heaved a large sigh but sat up, indicating for Ray to sit.

“Thanks, Ray. It’s just...I met a guy. And it...didn’t work out. I’ll get over it.”

“Hmm,” Ray hummed in sympathy. “Affairs of the heart are never easy. I’m sorry things with your young man did not go the way you would have liked.”

“Yeah.”

“But your store!” Ray exclaimed when Patrick didn’t offer anything else. “It’s been so busy this week! That must be a good thing.”

The store had been unusually busy in the past week. More than busy. In that one week, they had brought in what they usually made in a month. Patrick had no idea what had caused the upswing in customers, but he wished it could have happened just a few weeks later, giving him more time to wallow in self-pity.

“And you must tell me what it was like meeting David Rose!”

“What?”

“David Rose!” Ray dug his phone out of his pocket and pulled up his Twitter app, showing Patrick the photo David had posted of the books he’d purchased, telling his followers to visit The General Store if they were ever in Toronto.

_I guess that explains that._

“A real celebrity in your store. How exciting! I bet he has a lot of closets that need organizing."

With a groan, Patrick pulled a blanket off the back of the sofa, wrapped himself up like a burrito, and trudged into his bedroom.

Talking with his parents wasn’t any better.

“Well, honey, didn’t you know he had a boyfriend?”

Patrick gaped at his mother. “No? Why would I...why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

Marcy set a steaming mug of tea in front of Patrick before sitting down at the table across from him. “I assumed you knew. Everyone knows about David and Jake. They claim to be casual, but they’ve been seeing each other for years.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this Jake person.” Patrick winced, the tea scalding his tongue as he took a gulp.

“He’s a very famous male model.”

“Great.”

“You know what you need?” Clint interjected, bringing in a bag of cookies from the kitchen. “There’s this great guy at my office.”

“Do I really want my Dad setting me up on a blind date?”

“You’ll be fine!”

The date was not fine. Nor was the one Marcy set up for him the next weekend. Or the next. After that, they called in reinforcements. Twyla had a cousin for him to meet. Mutt knew a guy he met hitchhiking across Ontario. Ted wanted him to get to know Miguel, a rival veterinarian. But after several months, Patrick’s family finally admitted defeat when even Ken, the cute, friendly man Patrick had met all on his own when he’d come by Patrick’s place to pick up passport photos from Ray, didn’t even warrant a second date.

* * *

“Have you seen the news?”

Patrick looked up from where he was bent over the register. He had been daydreaming as he waited for one of the customers to need him, but Twyla’s gentle urgency tore him from his reverie.

“New about what?”

Twyla bit her lip and looked furtively around the store. Obviously uncomfortable with others overhearing, she jerked her head, encouraging Patrick to follow her into the back room.

“Twyla, what’s going on?”

She pulled a magazine from behind her back, one of the trashy ones that traded in the worst celebrity gossip and scandal, and handed it to Patrick. “It’s David.”

Patrick had barely glanced at the cover before his stomach clenched, knots twisting themselves inside him. He stared in horror at the pictures splashed across the page, then shook himself, tossing the tabloid into the garbage.

“I don’t want to see it.” The vehemence in his voice made Twyla jump, and he cringed. “Sorry, Twy. I just...I think I need a minute.”

Twyla nodded, rubbing a comforting hand up and down his arm, and said, “Why don’t you take a break. Go home for a bit. I’m fine here.”

Patrick pressed a quick kiss of thanks to Twyla’s forehead and ducked up the back staircase into his apartment, grateful to know that Ray would be gone for another several hours. He strode into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face before sighing as he glared at himself in the mirror.

He had just about gotten past David, and here he was, thrown back in his face in the most graphic way. He knew he was headed right back down the spiral of longing, and he was so angry at himself for it. But more than that, Patrick ached to know that David was okay.

A knock came from his front door, and for a moment, Patrick considered ignoring it, but then he heard it again, more urgent this time. Patrick crossed the apartment with a sigh, pulling the door open before he was brought up with a gasp.

It was David.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced in this chapter is Joni Mitchell's A Case of You of her 1971 album Blue.

Patrick was still as David paced back and forth in his tiny kitchen. In the little that he’d known David, he’d appreciated how animated he was, how his body couldn’t help but be in constant motion, but this...this pained and anxious display of perpetual movement, like David was trying to shake off something dirty that clung to him, broke Patrick’s heart. For the first time, he wanted David to be still.

“He just...I can’t believe he’s done this,” David said, for what had to be the hundredth time. “I can’t believe he even had those pictures of me.”

“It’s okay, David.” Patrick pitched his voice low and soft, hoping it would come across as soothing, but David just rounded on him, turning the full force of his fury onto Patrick.

“Okay?” he screeched, the tears that he had somehow managed to keep at bay finally tumbling down his cheeks. “What about any of this is okay? My ex-boyfriend took explicit pictures of me when I was high, and now, even though we haven’t spoken in probably two years, he just decided to release them. And they’re...fuck, Patrick, they’re everywhere!”

David stopped suddenly, his hands coming up to cover his face as he let out a sob. He tried to muffle it, his shoulders shaking with effort, but it ripped out of him. Patrick was out of his chair like a shot, wrapping David up in his arms and guiding him over to the kitchen table.

“You’re okay,” Patrick whispered as David collapsed into a chair. He pulled another up beside him, holding onto David tight and letting him cry into his shoulder. “You’re okay; you’re here. You’re here, and you’re going to get through this.”

“I don’t remember Sebastien taking them.” David turned tear-filled eyes to Patrick, pleading with him to believe. “I...I never would have...I mean, I wouldn’t have agreed…”

“I know,” Patrick said, his hands running soothingly along David’s shoulders. “I know.”

“And I...I’m clean now. I don’t take...not since…”

“You don’t owe me anything.” It was true. Patrick didn’t need to hear David’s excuses or explanations. He wasn’t here to judge or to point out David’s shortcomings. He couldn’t imagine how David was feeling - the betrayal, the mortification, the anger.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” David’s voice was so small, Patrick almost didn’t catch it. He pulled back, wiping the back of his hand over his wet face, visibly trying to pull himself together as he sniffled through the last of his tears. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, after...but reporters are staking out the hotel, and I….but that’s not your problem.” David stood, offering Patrick a watery smile of apology. “I’ll go.”

Patrick sat frozen as David picked his bag off the floor and started across the apartment. He was almost to the door when Patrick sprang up, his hand outstretched as if to touch him. “Don’t go!”

David turned, and the shy look of hope on his face made Patrick’s heart clench in his chest. “Don’t go,” he said again. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” The tension seemed to bleed out of David, his whole body almost collapsing in on itself in front of Patrick. “Take a seat on the couch. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“Something with cheese on it, please.”

Grilled cheese sandwiches were easy enough, and within minutes the homey smell of toasty bread and melted cheese filled the little apartment. By the time Patrick had them plated, David was sprawled out across the sofa, his socked feet crossed over one of the arms while his head and shoulders were propped up with a throw pillow against the other. He was staring up at the ceiling, a blank look on his face, still somewhat wet and blotchy, and his arms hugged across his chest protectively. He moved to sit up when Patrick approached, but Patrick shook his head, setting the sandwiches down on the coffee table. He lifted David’s legs and sat down, letting them come back to rest comfortably on his lap.

David stared at Patrick, his eyes rounded with surprise, as Patrick reached for their grilled cheeses, but his lips softened with just the barest hint of a smile. He accepted the offered plate with a whispered _thank you_ and broke off a tiny crumb of sandwich.

“Oh my god!” David moaned as the melted cheese hit his tongue, his head tipped back in pleasure. The second bite was nearly half the sandwich, crammed into one cheek like a jealous chipmunk.

“Good?”

Patrick’s question, teased out of his smirking mouth, brought David back to reality. He froze, cheeks bulging, and his eyes opened wide. He tried to cover his mouth as he chewed, jutting out his chin to help him swallow, before wincing.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Patrick said, shoving an equally large bite into his own mouth with a grin.

They finished the rest of their sandwiches without speaking, the silence breaking only for David’s continued noises of appreciation. When their plates were empty and set aside, Patrick sank back against the cushions, one hand absent-mindedly playing with the strip of skin peeking out between David’s pants and his sock.

“So,” Patrick finally said. Immediately, his palms started to sweat. There was a tightness in his throat, like his lungs had frozen, making it difficult to catch his breath. He cleared his throat awkwardly, then again, all while he could feel David’s eyes on him, sharp and wary. “I just...I just wanted you to know, I...well, I hope you know that I’m your friend. That’s all.”

David’s face softened, smoothing out into something sweet and private. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything, just know that I’m here.”

David sat up, inching himself closer to Patrick until he was pressed right up against him, his head resting on Patrick’s shoulder. “Is this okay?” he whispered. At Patrick’s silent nod, he continued. “I’m sorry about last time.” He said it haltingly like the words were foreign in his mouth. Patrick got the impression that David maybe didn’t apologize all that often, and to now be on the receiving end of his second was probably a momentous occasion. “Jake and I...we’re not together. In fact, I haven’t seen him since. And even before, we weren’t...I mean, we’d been seeing each other for years, but it was always just...something to do. We both knew there wasn’t more to it, but...when he showed up, I just panicked. If he’d thought we were _anything_ , he would have...he would have invited you in to join us, and I didn’t want to watch you say yes.”

David’s hair was so soft against Patrick’s throat. He didn’t quite know what to say in response to David’s confession, so he bought himself some time, just gently rubbing his chin across the top of David’s head, each strand of hair caressing him in a tender kiss.

“I’m sorry, too,” he finally said. “I don’t know the rules of the world you live in, and I wanted too much from you. But this time around, all I want is to be your friend.”

“I’ve never had many of those.”

* * *

True to his word, Patrick spent the rest of the day simply trying to be David’s friend. He didn’t think about how kissable David looked or how good he smelled or how soft his skin was. He didn’t think about what it would be like to have David in his bed, that beautiful, naked body beneath him, gasping out his pleasure. He didn’t think about romance, about sweeping David off his feet and living happily ever after in domestic bliss. He pushed it all down inside of himself, content to keep it hidden until he was alone and could take out his feelings and wrap them around himself like a warm blanket.

Just like before, it was so easy being around David. No lingering awkwardness, no uncomfortable silences. When they had finished their snack, Patrick asked David what he needed and did his best to provide. David washed the grime of betrayal from his skin in a relaxing bubble bath while Patrick took care of cleaning up from their sandwiches, doing his best to banish all thoughts of the naked, sudsy man in his tub. The sleepy, satisfied look on David’s face when he emerged in a cloud of lavender steam did nothing to help Patrick’s situation, even as the scent of Ray’s bubble bath wafted over him.

They spent the next several hours in cozy companionship. They watched a silly movie that ended with David dozing on Patrick’s shoulder. He jerked awake at the sound of Patrick’s phone, the petulant glare on his face sending Patrick into peals of laughter. Patrick fielded a few work calls while David mostly ignored his phone. They sat together at the kitchen table, Patrick reading over a new vendor contract and David grimacing through a series of scripts he was choosing between.

“Do you get to smile in any of them?” Patrick asked. His eyes never looked up from the contract he was studying, but he could feel David’s eyes on him.

“Smiling gives you laugh lines.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Uh...yes! People pay literally millions of dollars to stay looking young. This is the moneymaker, after all.” David finished by gesturing to his face.

“I see, and we wouldn’t want to do anything to mess with that.”

“No, we wouldn’t.”

Before Patrick could reply, they were interrupted by a jangling of keys and the front door opening.

“Hello, Patrick!” Ray called. “I saw Twyla downstairs, and she said you’d had a bad morning and took the day off, and - oh!”

Ray stopped short, his jacket forgotten as it hung on one shoulder, as he caught sight of David. Both men turned to watch as his mouth opened and closed several times with no sound coming out before he was finally able to force a sentence out.

“You’re David Rose!”

“I am.” Patrick’s head whipped back around at the tight tone of David’s voice, wanting to make sure he was okay. “You must be Ray. Of all the octopus fame.”

“Oh my gosh, Patrick has told you about me?” If Patrick weren’t preoccupied with David’s obvious discomfort, he would have been tickled by Ray’s delight. “I’m flattered to hear it. And David, I just want you to know, I saw those pictures that Sebastien Raine took of you, and I think you look much better now.”

Patrick’s eyes widened in disbelief, but otherwise, he sat frozen, unable to even breathe.

“Thanks.”

Either Ray didn’t hear the ice in David’s voice, or he didn’t care. Either way, he shot David a cheerful grin and turned to Patrick, saying, “Patrick, I’ll be at Bob’s for the rest of the evening for poker night. Ronnie is convinced he and Gwen are cheating, so I have to go make sure she doesn’t do anything she’ll regret.”

With that, Ray bounded away, dropping off one bag in his bedroom before grabbing another on his way out.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, David turned to Patrick with a pained look and said, “I’m going to need a stiff drink to get through the rest of the night.”

“Tequila?”

Tequila led to margaritas, and where there are margaritas, there must be enchiladas. David, it turned out, was a disaster in the kitchen. For all that he loved to eat, he had never taken the time to learn how to prepare his food. Patrick guided him through some basics, trying to walk a fine line between encouraging and empowering David’s blossoming skill and making sure he didn’t kill either of them. His knife skills left much to be desired as he diced the peppers and onions, but Patrick was able to convince him to keep all his fingers intact. There was only the smallest of fires when David tried warming the tortillas with Patrick’s gas stove. David was enthusiastic and hilarious, stealing cheese and tomatoes and an entire half an avocado right under Patrick’s nose like a mischievous mouse. By the time he was trying to guide David through making a sauce, Patrick was crying with laughter at his charming ineptitude.

“Stop laughing at me!” David screeched, stamping his foot on the ground as Patrick clutched his knees, doubled over and trying to catch his breath. “I don’t know how to fold broken cheese like that!”

When he was able to breathe again, his laughter held at bay behind a brilliant smile, Patrick was relieved to see David grinning back at him.

“You fold in the cheese!” David laughed, thrusting the wooden spoon he was holding into Patrick’s hand. “It’s rude to laugh at me while I am in distress!”

“Oh, are you in distress?” Patrick teased back, hip checking David as he took over stirring the pot. When David didn’t immediately parry back with a quip of his own, Patrick looked up, but his apology died on his lips.

David’s head was tilted to the side, and he was studying Patrick closely. His hands were held in front of his chest, the sleeve of his sweater covering them almost to his knuckles. He twisted one of his rings, but it wasn’t out of his usual anxiety.

“I don’t think I am,” David said softly. “I think...I think I’m okay.”

Dinner was spent much the same way the rest of the day had been: with teasing, laughing, and comfortable companionship, not to mention the gusto and enthusiasm with which David ate. Patrick was learning that the sound of David enjoying himself, specifically enjoying his food, was quickly becoming one of his favorite noises.

Once David had polished off a second portion of enchiladas and Patrick had cut himself off after two margaritas, each with a healthy amount of tequila, Patrick shooed David into the living room while he took care of the dishes. He took the few minutes alone to simply breathe, centering himself. He couldn’t let David get to him this time, couldn’t let him burrow into Patrick’s skin and stay there. It wasn’t fair to David. Patrick just wanted too much from him, when what David needed right now was a friend.

“You getting up to trouble?” Patrick called out when he couldn’t hear anything from David, drying his hands on the kitchen towel before tossing it onto the cleaned counter and going to join him in the living room. He found David standing beside his little desk in the corner, arms crossed over his chest and his mouth downturned as he studied the mounted record sleeves covering the walls. Patrick had never had much of an eye for interior decorating, and sharing his space with Ray, who had a penchant for florals and pastels and antique animal figurines, managed to crimp whatever style he had even further. But this one little corner, while maybe not the most sophisticated or tasteful, was probably the most _Patrick_ part of the whole place.

“I love this album.”

“ _Blue_?” Patrick asked, stopping just a pace behind David. “I wouldn’t have pegged that for you.”

“Um, Joni is a legend,” David scoffed, turning to shoot a scandalized look in Patrick’s direction. “Different, perhaps, from some of my other heroes - Mariah or Whitney or Tina. But a legend just the same.”

Patrick stuck his hands in his pockets, hiding his grin. “I stand corrected. You know, that was the first album I could play all the way through.”

“Play?”

Instead of answering, Patrick reached around to the other side of the desk, grabbing the guitar propped against it. He backed up several paces, sitting down on the edge of the sofa, and strummed a random chord.

“Oh, wow.” David’s face twisted in an exaggerated grimace, but his eyes were laughing. He tripped backward and dropped into the desk chair, watching Patrick’s nimble fingers flex and slide over the strings. “I didn’t know an evening of _Wonderwall_ was what I was getting myself into by coming to stay here. Not sure I’m strong enough for that.”

“No _Wonderwall_ , just Joni.”

The warmth of the tequila was still working its way through Patrick’s veins, leaving him loose and just a little fuzzy. His fingers strummed the chords he knew so well, songs that his mother had sung for him as a child, and as he came to the chorus, Patrick couldn’t help but open his mouth and sing.

 _Oh, you are in my blood like holy wine_ _  
_ _You taste so bitter and so sweet_ _  
_ _Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling_ _  
_ _And I would still be on my feet_ _  
_ _Oh, I would still be on my feet_

Patrick looked up into the bright longing of David’s gaze, and his fingers stumbled over the strings, breaking the spell. He cleared his throat awkwardly, swinging the guitar off his lap and propping it up against the sofa.

“Sorry,” he laughed, shrugging sheepishly. “Got a bit carried away. I think it’s my favorite love song.”

David slid onto the sofa next to Patrick, both men lounging back against the cushions.

“But it’s so sad.”

Patrick let his head fall back, thinking about that. It was sad, a song about a love that’s been lost.

“I don’t know,” Patrick mused, “I just...there’s something about keeping a person with you, even after they’re gone, both the bitter and sweet.” He let his head loll to the side, gazing at David. “I know what that’s like.”

David hummed, tucking his feet up underneath himself. “You mean Rachel?”

“Yes,” Patrick lied. It may have been true once upon a time, but Patrick knew it wasn’t Rachel settling into his bones anymore. And from the soft smile David sent his way, Patrick was pretty sure David knew it, too.

* * *

Bedtime was a fraught affair. David pawed desperately through his bag, muttering darkly to himself, but finally had to accept defeat. “Ugh!” he grunted, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. “Who packs a bag without any pajamas in it?”

Around a mouth full of toothpaste, Patrick called out, “Borrow some of mine.”

“At least I’ve got my slippers,” David grumbled to himself, carefully pulling out a pair of brown Chanel slippers. Patrick almost choked when he saw them, so hideous they were, but knowing David, they probably cost more than his rent.

“Here.” After rubbing a hand towel roughly over his face, Patrick strode into his bedroom, opening up the bottom drawer of his dresser. He pulled out a pair of soft, black sleep pants and handed them to David. “You need a t-shirt, or will you just burn that one, too?”

David didn’t answer. Instead, he held the sleep pants gingerly between two fingers, looking at Patrick in dismay.

“These pants are black.”

“And?”

“My slippers are brown,” he said as if that was enough explanation. He clucked his tongue, shaking his head at the pants in question. “If it was the other way around, we could make this work, but…”

When David didn’t give any indication that he was going to put on the pants, Patrick sighed in amused resignation. “Will gray pants go better with the brown slippers?”

“Much.”

“Okay, David.” Without another word, Patrick slipped the pants he was wearing down over his hips and stepped out of them. Ignoring that he was now standing in front of David in nothing but his boxer briefs, he held them out, taking the offending black pants out of David’s hands. “Is this better?”

David made no attempt to hide the way his eyes dropped to the bulge in Patrick’s boxer briefs. With his lips pursed into a smirk, he nodded, accepting the offered pajamas. With a lingering kiss to Patrick’s cheek, David whispered, “Goodnight, Patrick,” and sauntered into Patrick’s bedroom, closing the door behind him.

There was no way Patrick was going to sleep after the day they’d shared. The sofa was actually quite comfortable, made up with extra pillows and blankets he and Ray kept stashed in the closet, but still, Patrick couldn’t sleep. It was impossible to turn his mind off, not with David Rose laying in Patrick’s bed, just behind a closed door. After staring up at the darkened ceiling for what felt like hours, Patrick closed his eyes, hoping to will himself to sleep, but it stayed elusive, his mind instead conjuring up images of David. It was absurd, really, how deeply David had nestled into Patrick’s soul, but he was there, and there was just no getting him out.

Just as Patrick turned over for what must have been the hundredth time, punching his pillow into a more comfortable formation in the hopes that it would finally be the thing to lull him to sleep, he heard one of the bedroom doors click open. 

_Please don’t be Ray,_ Patrick silently begged, his eyes squeezed tight.

“Patrick?”

Prayers answered, Patrick sat up. David stood in the doorway of his bedroom, his hair soft and rumpled from the bed, his eyes big and luminous in the dark, and a blanket from Patrick’s bed wrapped protectively around his shoulders.

“Is everything okay?”

David nodded. He caught his lower lip in his teeth, his eyes darting around the darkened apartment. Finally, he said, “Your bed is very comfortable.”

“Uh...thanks?”

“And it’s surprisingly big. Probably three or four people could sleep in it if they were close.”

“I can guarantee it doesn’t see that kind of action.”

David ducked his head, hiding his smile at Patrick’s joke. “Well, um...I was thinking...with it being so big and so comfortable...maybe you wanted to sleep there. Um...instead of the sofa.”

Patrick didn’t move at first. He had told David he was just going to be his friend, and whatever David was suggesting was decidedly not friend territory. 

_I could drink a case of you, darling_ _  
_ _And I would still be on my feet_

Without him even asking for it, Joni was there, singing his regrets in his ears. He didn’t want this to be one of them. He stood, silently following David into his bedroom. His heart pounded in his ears, but all David did was crawl under the covers, holding them open for Patrick to follow.

“Hi.”

Patrick huffed out a laugh, and David smiled back at him, his eyes glittering.

“I’ve had a good day,” David continued, snuggling up closer until they were almost nose to nose. “Which, considering how badly I’m handling the shit I’m dealing with, is pretty surprising.”

“You’re handling it just fine.”

“Mm, am I?” David’s eyebrows lifted skeptically.

“Don’t think about it. It doesn’t matter. People will see that _he’s_ the one that should be ashamed of himself, not you. I see that.”

David’s eyes were wide and wet as they stared back at Patrick, studying him, reading down into his soul. He might have cowered under another stare, but not David’s. Patrick held his gaze steady, letting David take his fill, hoping he could read all the care that Patrick felt for him.

David’s mouth twisted to the side, and he hummed, his brow furrowing like he was making a decision, and then he leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss to Patrick’s lips. Patrick sighed into it, his mouth opening just enough for David’s tongue to slip inside. His belly flipped at the touch, and his head spun with desire.

“Is this okay?” David asked, nosing against Patrick’s cheek and peppering kisses along his throat. Patrick moaned softly, gentle pulses of arousal going straight to his cock.

“Please.” He might have been embarrassed at how desperate he already sounded, but his hand came up to tangle in David’s hair, and David whined sharply, showing himself to be just as far gone. Patrick tugged on David’s sleeve, dragging him on top of him. His legs spread instinctively to give David room, his body yielding to David’s. He took a shaky breath, reveling at the feeling of David’s weight blanketing him.

“I thought about you, you know,” David said between kisses. “After...after what happened, I thought about you.”

Patrick slid his hands beneath David’s t-shirt, squeezing his waist. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” David lowered his hips, gasping as his hardening cock dragged across Patrick’s. “I hated that I hurt you. And that I...I wouldn’t get to see you again.”

“You’re here now.” Patrick moaned, lifting his leg to wrap around David’s hips, giving himself more leverage. “You’re here now, and we’re fine.”

Pushing himself up, David looked down at Patrick, his eyes dark and deep. “I really am sorry.”

“I know, baby.” Immediately, Patrick wished he could take the word back, but then David smiled, his dimple flashing in his cheek, and Patrick’s heart soared. He reached up to cup David’s face, thumb caressing over his cheekbone as David turned and kissed his palm. “God, you’re beautiful.”

David’s face scrunched up, and he ducked down, burrowing into the crook of Patrick’s shoulder. “You can’t just say things like that!”

“Like that’s something you don’t hear every day.”

With a soft kiss to Patrick’s jaw, David whispered, “It’s different when you say it. When you say it, I think it may actually be true.”

Something in David’s words struck Patrick deep in his soul, and all he wanted to do was make David believe him. _“You’re the only one who treats me like a person,”_ David had once said to him. Rolling David onto his back, Patrick kissed him fiercely, tangling his fingers together with David’s and holding them up by David’s head. He was going to show David that he was more than a pretty face on a magazine, more than a product to sell, more than a victim of Sebastien’s cruelty.

He was David Rose, and Patrick loved him.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun had only just begun to think about awakening, but Patrick had been up for hours. David lay beside him, warm and heavy in sleep, his only movement the rise and fall of his head where it lay on Patrick’s chest. Patrick bent his head, burying his nose in the thick tangle of David’s hair, and breathed deeply, letting the scent of David invade and overwhelm him.

How was it possible this was real?

Patrick couldn’t even begin to explain it. What had he done in his life to deserve something like this, to know what it felt like to have David’s lips on his and his arms around him? Closing his eyes, Patrick tried to hold on to the scenes of the previous night flickering through his mind, keeping them from becoming nothing but a blur of shapes and shadows. He’d undressed David so slowly, his hands trembling with every inch of skin that was revealed, and spent the night worshipping him. He memorized the sound David made as Patrick entered him, the feeling of his tight heat enveloping Patrick, the look on his face as he came, spurting warm and wet between their bellies. Every gasp, every moan, every cry of Patrick’s name was branded onto his skin like a hot iron.

As David stirred beside him, Patrick held his breath, not wanting to wake David. He wasn’t ready to leave this cocoon of bliss. The morning would bring complications, questions that Patrick didn’t have answers to yet. He needed more time.

What would life be like if David were his? What would Patrick be willing to sacrifice to spend every morning like this, curled up with a beautiful man that made Patrick’s heart flutter and his head spin and his soul speak the word _home_?

A whine sounded from deep within David’s throat, and he turned, burrowing further into Patrick. “You’re thinking too loud,” he complained. “I can feel it.”

Patrick tightened his hold on David, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Do you know what I’m thinking of?”

Squirming himself into a better position, one where he could turn his sleep-dazed face towards Patrick’s, David pouted his lips, begging for a kiss. Patrick hummed into it, kissing him soft and slow, trying to impart all the warm contentedness he felt into his kiss.

Blinking slowly, lids heavy over hazy eyes, David smiled. “I hope you’re thinking about breakfast.”

With a laugh, Patrick pressed another kiss to David’s lips. Then another and another and another, until he was breathless with nothing but David filling his lungs. As his eyes drank in the adorably rumpled picture David made, Patrick said, “You’re naked in my bed, so you’ll have to forgive me if my mind hadn’t yet made it to breakfast.”

David rolled his eyes, dramatically falling back against the pillows with a grimace. “The entire world has seen me naked thanks to that monster Sebastien Raine. It’s hardly something to write home about.”

The wound was still raw, Patrick knew. David had gotten to a point the night before where he could feel okay, like the sting of Sebastien’s betrayal wasn’t going to suffocate him. But it would take a long time to fully heal from it.

Not wanting to dwell on sadness, Patrick decided to go for levity. He snuggled up beside David, humming in contemplation. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think those pictures really captured the real you. Let me just check.” Then he yanked the blankets up, making a big show of peeking at David’s cock, sending David into a fit of undignified giggles. Patrick lowered the blankets again with a grin. “Yep, no comparison. I got the real stuff.”

David’s laughter tapered off and his eyes became soft and serious. “Is that what you really think?”

“What?”

David didn’t answer right away. Turning fully onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling. “Rita Hayworth used to say, ‘every man I knew went to bed with Gilda and woke up with me.’ I think about that a lot.”

“Who’s Gilda?”

David gave Patrick that little half-smile Patrick was learning meant he’d said something silly and endearing. “Gilda was her most famous part. An absolute bombshell, but...it wasn’t her.” He turned wide eyes on Patrick, staring at him hungrily. “I don’t feel like I’m Gilda when I’m with you.”

“No?” Patrick couldn’t help but reach out, tracing the lines of David’s jaw as he spoke.

“Mm-mm. I feel... _safe_ with you. Like you see _me_ instead of just a dream.” He turned completely, laying on his side and tucking his hands beneath his cheek. “I’m not used to that kind of thing.”

“You’re safe with me, David Rose,” Patrick said, earnestness ablaze on his face. “I promise.”

As if coming to the end of his ability to be vulnerable, David cut off any further declarations with a firm kiss to Patrick’s lips. He wound strong arms around Patrick’s waist, dragging him closer, and then climbed on top of him. Patrick laughed, high and loud, spreading his legs to welcome David between them.

 _There will never be anything better than this,_ Patrick thought, taking in the soft wildness of a David Rose without his carefully crafted mask.

Their kisses and giggles were soon interrupted by something of the utmost importance: David’s stomach. He grimaced at the growling noise, covering his face as if embarrassed, but Patrick just loved him the more for it.

“You promised me breakfast,” David said, rolling off of Patrick and languishing back against the pillows, stretching out like a lazy cat.

“Is that what I said?”

“I’m pretty sure it was implied.”

“Corn flakes it is!” Patrick smacked a kiss to the top of David’s head, laughing at his exaggerated whine of dismay, before scootching himself out of bed. He rooted around on the floor for the boxer briefs he had discarded the night before, slipping them on quickly, before turning to see David pull on his old Blue Jay’s t-shirt which a coy smile.

“Are we matching black and brown today?” Patrick teased, nodding towards David’s black briefs and the brown Chanel slippers he was sliding into. “Because I have been told that’s incorrect.”

Rounding the bed, David wrapped his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, giggling into another dizzy kiss. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Patrick said, his eyes opening wide in mock seriousness. “But I suppose we can let it slide this once.”

It was several minutes before they untangled themselves enough to leave the room, but eventually, the growling of David’s stomach made it necessary. Just as they entered the kitchen, they were interrupted by a knock at Patrick’s front door.

“You go answer the door,” David said, waving one hand imperiously towards it, “and I’ll see what deliciousness we can find for breakfast.”

Smiling to himself at David’s antics, Patrick trotted across the apartment to the door. He opened it quickly, expecting nothing more than a package delivery, or maybe Twyla stopping in before opening up shop, but froze at what he opened upon.

Cameras flashed from all directions. Dozens of photographers littered the sidewalk in front of his store, with the boldest having climbed the stairs up towards his apartment. Questions were shouted at him, the mob pressing closer, and the photographer who had knocked on his door was almost pushed into his home.

“Jesus Christ,” Patrick gasped, and finally had the wherewithal to slam the door.

“Okay, I can’t be sure because I’ve never made them myself, obviously,” David was calling from the kitchen, “but I think we could make pancakes! You have flour and maple syrup. There’s not much more to it, right?”

Patrick didn’t answer, frozen in place, staring at the door and hoping it was all a dream.

 _How did they find out?_ he wondered. _How do they know David’s here?_

“Patrick, who’s there?”

Patrick jumped at the sound of David’s voice, now right beside him. He looked back at David, his breath coming in short bursts, but he couldn’t speak.

“What is it?”

Without waiting for an answer, David reached for the door. In his mind, Patrick screamed at him to stop, but he couldn’t make the words come. He watched David twist the handle and pull back the door, revealing himself to the hoard with nothing to protect him.

Shouts of David’s name echoed as the swell of paparazzi pushed forward, but David slammed the door in their faces once again.

“Oh my god,” David said, his face ashen and his voice high and tight. “Oh my god, they saw you.”

Without another word, David spun on his heel, sprinting into Patrick’s room. Patrick followed slower, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.

“Alexis?” Patrick stood in the doorway watching David pace, his phone clutched in his hand so tightly Patrick was afraid it might shatter. “Alexis, ye...yes, I know calling you on the phone is so 2001, but can you just listen to me right now? I need you...the press are here, hundred of them...yeah, it’s a fucking disaster.” Patrick’s heart ached as he watched David deflate, his free arm wrapped protectively around his middle and his shoulders hunched forward. “Call me when you get here.”

Patrick waited until David hung up the phone, until he had his face buried in his hands, trembling from...Patrick wasn’t sure exactly. He took three tentative steps forward, reaching out to lay a hand on David’s shoulder, but David flinched away, rounding on him suddenly.

“What did you do?”

Patrick reared back, shocked by the venom in David’s voice. “Me?” he croaked. “What did I do?”

“I don’t know, thought you could make a buck or two telling the papers where I was?”

“David!” David tugged the t-shirt he was wearing over his head, tossing it unceremoniously to the floor. Pawing through his bag, he pulled out his own clothes, and Patrick felt like with every piece of clothing David pulled on, another piece of his mask slipped back into place. “David, you can’t think that’s true.”

“I don’t know what to think,” David spat, thrusting his foot into his boot and tying up the laces. He stood then, fully dressed, and paced around the room, furiously collecting the little bits of him that had spread out and mingled with Patrick. “Other than that this was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

Storming out of the room, the door slammed backward into the wall. As David collected his things from the bathroom in the same furious manner, Ray came out of his room, clearly woken by the commotion.

“Patrick?” he called, his voice laced with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Not now, Ray.” By this point, Patrick had hurriedly dressed, pulling on his discarded pajamas from the night before. “David, please,” he begged, blocking his way out of the bathroom. “Please, let’s just calm down and talk about this. It’s really...it’s really not that big a deal!”

“Not that big a deal!?”

“No, I mean...I just mean…”

“What do you mean, Patrick?” David scoffed. “I’d like to hear it. Please tell me how the violation of my privacy is not a big deal. Please tell me how the destruction of my reputation and my career is not a big deal.”

“They’ll be another celebrity scandal tomorrow, David!” The words tumbled out of Patrick, hot and desperate, but they didn’t feel right. They weren’t what he wanted to say, but somehow he couldn’t stop. “Another rich asshole will say the wrong thing on Twitter or get sent to rehab or sleep with the wrong person, and people will forget all about this.”

“I thought I was safe with you,” David said, his voice trembling with fury. “I thought...I thought I could trust you, but I guess I’m just another rich asshole sleeping with the wrong person.”

Patrick felt like he had been slapped as his words were repeated back to him. He hadn’t meant for David to see himself in his words, and shame licked up at his spine at David’s hurt. “I meant it,” he said, trying to undo the damage, “when I said you were safe with me. I...I think I love you, David. The real you, not whatever fantasy David they’re waiting for out there. And I don’t know what happened or why they’re here, but I know it’s something you and I can deal with. Together.”

David pursed his lips, crossing his arms across his chest and blinking back tears. “Is that so?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Well, my truth...is that I am damaged goods. And this has really messed things up for me.” David shouldered his bag and took a step forward before whispering, “Will you let me pass, please?”

Patrick stepped back immediately, allowing David out of the bathroom. They stood awkwardly, looking at the floor or the ceiling or anything in between, anything as long as it wasn’t each other. The silence was only broken by David’s stomach growling one more time.

“Um...I never did get any breakfast,” David said, his voice soft and sad.

“I’ll get you something.”

As Patrick grabbed a chocolate peanut butter breakfast bar and a banana from the kitchen, an impatient knock sounded on the front door.

“David?” Alexis’s voice called out to them. “David, answer your phone!”

“Here.” Patrick thrust the food towards David, who took it and swiftly stowed it away in his bag. “Uh...I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Goodbye, Patrick.” David pulled on his signature pair of white sunglasses, the final piece of his mask slipping into his place. “I’m sorry I came.”

The door opened, and again they were assaulted by the flashes of cameras and the shout of questions. But this time, David had Alexis, guiding him down the stairs and away from Patrick.

“Um, excuse me, David Rose will not be taking any questions at this time,” she shouted above the din, the flood of cameras parting for her like the Red Sea. She held her head high, the swing of her ponytail the last thing Patrick saw as they were swallowed up by the car waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs.

Patrick didn’t know what to do. It had all happened so fast. One minute he was the happiest he’d ever been, and then the next it was all crumbling down around him. He had no idea how they had found them, and he honestly didn’t understand why it mattered to anyone. He was a nobody.

He spent the rest of the day going through the motions. Got dressed, went to work. Paparazzi flooded the street outside the store, making it near impossible for any actual shoppers to make it in the door. Twyla tried to send him home more than once, telling him how terrible he looked, but Patrick dug in his heels and refused. By the afternoon, the photos were already on the internet, headlines musing about David’s new “mystery lover.” Patrick tried to ignore them, but his phone wouldn’t let him. His parents, Ted, Mutt, even Twyla couldn’t keep their curiosity at bay.

By the time they closed the store for the day, Patrick had a raging headache. All he wanted to do was go home, take a pill, and go to bed early. But it just wasn’t his day to catch a break. Ray met him at the door, asking if they could speak.

“Ray, I’m really not feeling great right now, can we maybe-”

“I’m sorry,” Ray said, shifting his weight from side to side as he spoke. “But this really can’t wait.”

Patrick heaved a sigh. Any other time he would felt bad for being so obviously put out, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment. His heart had just been broken, he told himself, so deserved a little selfishness.

“Fine, Ray. But if we could make it quick.” 

Ray nodded, but instead of speaking, he began to pace the living room anxiously. Well, if he wasn’t going to get on with it, Patrick wasn’t going to wait around for him. Walking past Ray into the kitchen, Patrick rummaged in the cabinet until he found a little bottle of painkillers. He shook two out into his palm, then tossed them into his mouth, grimacing as they began to dissolve on his tongue. Quickly, he poured himself a glass of water, drinking it down and washing away the bitter taste of acetaminophen and heartbreak.

“It was my fault!” Ray was in the doorway now, a twist of guilt and sorrow marring his usually cheerful face. “I...I just got excited about meeting David Rose, and I may have...I may have mentioned that he was here. To Ronnie and Bob and...and Gwen.”

Well, that answered that question. Patrick had met Gwen a time or two, and while she seemed like a perfectly nice woman, her addiction to celebrity gossip and social media was legendary. From what Patrick could see on Ray's phone, the tweet she had posted about David staying at Patrick’s place had tens of thousands of retweets, including one by Toronto Mayor Roland Schitt who included a photo of him with Patrick and Mutt at a Jay’s game back when they were in high school.

“It’s fine, Ray,” Patrick sighed, too despondent to get angry. “I’m just gonna go to bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Ray might have kept talking, but Patrick didn’t hear as he brushed past him out of the kitchen. Catching sight of his guitar, still propped up against the sofa where he and David had left it the night before, he snagged it before making it into the sanctuary of his bedroom.

The sight of his bed, blankets still tangled together in a messy pile from his and David’s morning, sent an ache to Patrick’s heart. David had only been in the room once, but there were signs of his everywhere - the condom in the trashcan, the sweater he had bought Patrick stashed in the closet, the pajamas he had borrowed puddled on the floor. There was even one lone Chanel slipper he had left behind in his haste that morning.

Patrick sat down on the edge of the bed, cradling the guitar in his lap, and hoped the music would help him make sense of the swirl of emotions he felt coursing through him. Just like the night before, his fingers started to play instinctively.

 _Love is touching souls_ _  
_ _Surely you touched mine, ’cause_ _  
_ _Part of you pours out of me_   
In these lines from time to time

Patrick’s voice wobbled and he played a sour chord, and in a fit of anger, threw the guitar out of his lap, landing beside him on the mattress. His chest heaved with great, shuddering breaths until finally he lowered his head into his hands and cried.


	7. 4 Months Later

Patrick took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his neck, the steady stream of customers he had been dealing with all day taking its toll. It had been four months since the swarm of paparazzi had descended on his home and surrounded his shop, and business had been booming ever since. David’s initial tweet about The General Store had been deleted after the photos were published - and Patrick was left unsure if he should read into David’s action a kind attempt to maintain Patrick’s privacy or a desperate bid to distance himself from the man - but the damage was done. People from all over Toronto and beyond were making the trek to his little shop, just to scope out David Rose’s secret lover and hopefully catch a glimpse of the star himself.

Their disappointment was second only to Patrick’s own. At least most of them ended buying something, especially now with Christmas just around the corner.

Patrick tried to tell himself that some of his good fortune was his own doing. In the months since his... _whatever it was_ with David came to its rather dramatic end, Patrick had thrown himself into his store. No longer content to let it slowly wither and die, or to hear one more offer to be fired from Twyla, Patrick took on a new determination. He reorganized the layout, doing his best to make a stroll through the store make sense, each corner and aisle seamlessly blending into the next. He thought hard about the products they sold, drawing up a more cohesive vision and making the hard decision to let the contracts of some of his long-time vendors expire. And earlier that month, he had hosted the store’s first open mic night. It was a rousing celebration of carols and joy, and even Patrick’s somewhat melancholy rendition of _The River_ was appreciated, though there were more than few raised eyebrows from his friends.

They may not have known the significance of Joni Mitchell, but the sentiment wasn’t lost on them.

With his hands on the register and one leg extended back behind him, Patrick took advantage of a lull in customers to discreetly stretch out his hamstrings, trying to work some feeling back into his feet. While he appreciated the positive spike in his finances, he sometimes missed the days when he could spend most of his time hiding in the backroom in a not entirely comfortable chair.

“Patrick!”

He was startled out of his exercise by a shout and looked up to see a very excited Ted wending his way through the crowd.

“How’s it going, bud?” Ted asked, ducking behind the counter to pull Patrick into a backslapping hug. “You got a second?”

Patrick surveyed the bustle of the store. Twyla was on the floor, flitting from customer to customer with her radiant energy, always helpful, and only sometimes a little too personal. She looked entirely in control, and as no one seemed quite ready to check out, Patrick slid a bell to the front of the register and led Ted into the backroom with a nod of his head.

“What’s up?”

Ted took a breath before answering. He looked excited, like a golden retriever waiting for a ball to be thrown, ready to taste freedom as he tore off across a field. It was one of Patrick’s favorite things about Ted, his boundless energy and optimism.

“I got something.”

He didn’t offer up anything more, but he lifted up almost onto his toes, his excitement ready to burst out of him.

“Okay?”

“I got a way for you to contact David.”

“You...what?” Patrick’s mind went blank, unable to process Ted’s words.

“Look, I know things didn’t end great the last time he was here,” Ted said, his words coming out in a rush. “But I know you’ve been missing him. So here.” He handed Patrick a slip of paper on which a messy hand had scribbled out a string of numbers, the letter A, and a cartoon face Patrick was pretty sure was supposed to be winking.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking at.”

“So, I may have hit on his sister in the coffee shop around the corner from the clinic yesterday.” Patrick’s eyes widened, but Ted’s face was so flushed and happy, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt. “Yeah, I didn’t know who she was, but she was just so pretty, I had to talk to her. We got to talking, and then she wanted to see the bunnies at the clinic. Gave me this before she left. She’s going to be in town through Christmas. Pretty, uh... _hoppy_ coincidence.”

Patrick furrowed his brow.

“You know, because of the bunnies!” Ted waved away Patrick’s confusion. “Anyway, she told me not to share it with anyone, but I’m sure once you tell her who you are, she’d…” He shrugged as he trailed off, not actually sure what he thought Alexis would do for Patrick.

Patrick fiddled with the edge of the slip of paper. It was the first tangible connection he’d had to David in months, but it felt wrong somehow. David had made his feelings on the subject very clear and trying to wheedle his way back in through his sister...well, it wasn’t something he was going to do.

“Just think about it,” Ted said, his voice gone soft as he squeezed Patrick’s arm before making for the door. “I know he must have been something to get you so knocked off like this.”

With a tight smile, Patrick followed him out onto the main floor. As he raised one hand to wave Ted out of the store, his other let the paper slip through his fingers, fluttering like fall leaves from a tree to mingle with the rest of the paper recycling beside the register.

* * *

Everyone was talking over each other, each of Patrick’s friends trying to outdo the others, the volume rising with every second. His mother sat in her favorite easy chair, nursing her latest helping of eggnog. His father was sitting on a low stool with his back to the lit fireplace and a half-eaten plate of cookies beside him, his face red from laughter and too much brandy. His friends were draped over the rest of the living room furniture, telling stories, making jokes, singing off-key and broken off Christmas carols. And in the center of them all, Patrick lay still in the middle of the living room floor, his eyes closed and a small smile curled in the corners of his lips.

“I talked to my dad today,” Mutt said, the quiet composure of his voice cutting through the rest of the noise. Mutt’s relationship with his father had long been strained, fracturing all the more as Roland’s political career grew. The rest of the group turned to him, eyes large and listening. Even Patrick, in his eggnog stupor, managed to loll his head in his direction. “It was...it was okay. I’m going to go over to the house on Christmas morning, so...we’ll see how it goes. But I think...I think in the new year, I want to see them more.”

Twyla wrapped her arms around Mutt’s neck, giving him a squeeze while Ted clapped him on the shoulder. 

“That’s big new, son,” Clint offered, raising his glass of eggnog in Mutt’s direction.

Clearly sensing some of Mutt’s discomfort at the attention, Ted shifted in his seat and said, “I’ve got some news of my own. Uh...I applied for a research program a couple of months ago, and I...I found out this week that I got in. I leave in April.”

“Where to?”

“The Galapagos.”

“I want to travel,” Twyla sighed amidst Ted’s well wishes. Lying down, she draped herself across the laps of Ted and Mutt. “You know I’ve never even left Canada?”

“You could Galap-go with me.”

She giggled at Ted’s pun before closing her eyes and heaving a big, dreamy sigh, thinking of all the adventures the world had to offer. “I don’t care where I go, even if it’s just to Buffalo, but I’m doing it. This year I’m going to leave Canada.”

“It’s a good goal, Twyla,” Clint took a long pull of his egg-nog. With a fond expression, he glanced over at his wife, already fast asleep in her chair, and said, “Marcy’s been on me to start slowing down. We both turned 60 this year, so I think it’s time to start listening to her.”

Just like every year, Patrick had forgotten just how potent Clint’s spiked eggnog could be. He felt warm and sleepy and mostly content, surrounded by the sounds of his loved ones. He’d been so unhappy for the last several months, his heart tearing itself in two, over and over again, as it tried to mend its broken pieces, but right at that moment, he couldn’t quite remember why.

The room was gently spinning, making feel Patrick like he was floating, being rocked to sleep in giant arms, but he managed to open his eyes enough to say, “I want to be done. With David. It’s time.”

* * *

It had long been a curse of Patrick’s that a hangover somehow meant an even earlier rise. It was barely 6:00 in the morning when he stumbled out of the childhood bedroom he didn’t remember going to sleep in last night and tripped through the snoring bodies of his friends, passed out in various configurations on the living room furniture, to the kitchen. He was leaning on the kitchen counter, the cool granite against his cheek a blessing, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil when his father found him.

“Morning.” Patrick grunted in response, annoyed with how unaffected Clint sounded as he rooted through the fridge for some breakfast. “Can I make you some eggs?”

Patrick was pretty sure he answered, but he was distracted by the kettle whistle, the sound piercing into his brain like an ice pick. He scrambled to grab it from the stove, the first splash of boiled water missing his mug, but eventually managed a full cup of tea.

Collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs, Patrick wrapped both hands around his mug. The heat seeped into his hands, hot enough to hurt, but he didn’t let go, instead, letting the burning sting radiate through him, awakening him not just from his hangover but also from the dull stupor he’d been living in for month since his night with David.

The heat was just rounding out into an almost pleasantly dull ache in Patrick’s palms when Clint set a plate in front of him. Patrick looked up, his face registering surprise at the full breakfast Clint had provided - scrambled eggs, sausage, sourdough toast with butter, even orange slices. He took a tentative bite - Clint not being exactly known for his cooking - before tucking in with an enthusiastic gusto he hadn’t felt for anything in months.

Clint chuckled at his son moaning happily through his mouthful as he started in on his own breakfast at a more manageable pace. They ate in silence, each other’s presence more than enough company for so early a morning, but Clint studied his son as he sipped his coffee.

“So, it’s time to move on from David,” he finally said. It was almost nonchalant, a simple comment tossed off as he scrolled absentmindedly on his phone, but it still caused Patrick to freeze, one cheek bulging with eggs and sausage. He remembered saying the words the night before - that warm feeling of his family bolstering him. But in the harsh light of day, it wasn’t as simple as that. He just wanted to stop hurting.

With a monumental effort, Patrick was able to swallow, washing down his bite with a swig of tea, all while he eyed his father warily. “That wasn’t an invitation to set me up with someone else.”

“No, no,” his father dismissed, taking another sip of coffee without evening looking in Patrick’s direction. “I think we all learned our lesson the last time.”

He didn’t offer anything more, but Patrick knew this was more than idle early morning chit-chat. His dad wouldn’t have brought David up without a reason. “Out with it, Dad.”

Sliding his phone across the table, the article he’d pulled up topped with a behind-the-scenes photo of David and some other actors Patrick vaguely recognized filming a new movie, Clint said, “Looks like he’s in town.”

* * *

As soon as Patrick got to Nathan Phillips Square, he began to question his resolve. Even after his hearty breakfast and a healing dose of fatherly advice and support, his stomach still churned with the residual sour of too much alcohol the night before, so it was more than likely he was going into this less than at his best. But he kept going, putting one foot in front of the other until he reached the cordoned off area filled with cameras and lights and people in headsets.

He needed this thing with David finished one way or the other.

“Excuse me,” he said, stepping up to two men holding clipboards and surveying the action. When they turned, kindly asking if they could help him, he asked, “I’m looking for David Rose.”

“Is he expecting you?”

Patrick winced, sure he was ruining his chances but answered truthfully. “He’s not.”

The men shook their heads. “We can’t let you come any further, sorry.”

“I’m not crazy,” he said, though he knew it just made him sound precisely that. “I am his friend, or...at least…” He trailed, the faces of the two men hardening, so he raised his hands to indicate he was no threat. “I’m sorry, of course, you’re right. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Patrick was just about to tuck tail and run when two voices coming from his left stopped him in his tracks.

“Ugh, if you would just _listen_ , David,” Alexis was saying, trotting next to her brother to keep up with his long strides, “all I was saying was you need a new publicist now that you’ve fired Citrus. After the whole Sebastien thing and then your little ill-fated romance in the city blew up, you obviously can’t handle it very well on your own. So you should let me help you.”

“Don’t you already have a job?” David’s arms were crossed over his chest, his shoulders up by his ears, clearly trying to keep the cold at bay, and his face was clouded over in a scowl.

“Yes, but I’m tired of seeing Dad’s sad little face all the time whenever work comes up, so I thinking of moving on from InterFlix and taking on independent clients.”

“Should have thought of that before you took a job with his direct competition.”

Alexis must have responded to David’s barb, but Patrick didn’t hear it. David had stopped walking, his face going on a journey of a thousand different expressions as his eyes locked with Patrick’s.

 _I don’t want to let him go_.

Patrick raised his arm, his mittened hand offering a wave he was sure looked just as awkward as he felt. David nodded in acknowledgment and started walking again, slower this time, like he needed to give himself more time to prepare, but with his eyes never leaving Patrick’s.

“Hi.”

Patrick had been waiting for the day he would stand in front of David again, but he hadn’t anticipated just how much he could feel. His eyes tracked over David’s face, taking in the thick eyebrows, the well-coiffed hair, the artfully sculpted stubble. His eyes were shuttered, his usual mask of indifference firmly in place in front of so many people, but Patrick could sense the warmth straining to peek through.

“Hi,” Patrick replied, shoving his hands in his coat pockets, afraid they would try to reach out and touch without his permission. “I...I just heard you were in town this morning.”

David nodded, his lips pressed together and his eyes darting around the set. “Today’s our last day before we break for the holiday. Well, I think there’s a press event on Monday or something, but...this is the last day of filming. Had to prove this movie takes place in Toronto.”

Patrick’s flicked over the large sign and he huffed out a laugh before turning back to see David’s uncertain smile.

“David!”

David turned at the sound of the voice, nodding at the person beckoning him.

“I’ve gotta go, but...um...you could stay?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, just...stay. Please. I want to talk to you. I want...well, I gotta go. Fuck, it’s cold!”

Patrick laughed again as David scurried away. He couldn’t feel the cold himself, not with David back in front of him.

“Are you David’s friend?”

In his single-minded focus, Patrick had almost forgotten Alexis was there.

“Uh...yes.” That was the safest answer. “We’ve run into each other a few times.”

“Aw, that is _so_ cute.” Alexis’ gaze followed David. “He really needs some friends right now. He’s been _such_ a grump lately. Ever since that whole rando scandal from a couple of months ago.”

“Scandal?” Patrick’s heart began to race, wondering if Alexis was talking about him.

“Ugh, yeah, it was a whole mess.” She shook her head, scrunching up her face in disgust at the memory. “First his ex Sebastien leaked these, like, _super_ gross pictures of him to the press, and then he tried to hide at some little guy’s house, but that just turned into a nightmare.”

“Oh, right,” said Patrick, blowing right past the ‘little guy’ comment, “because the press found him there.”

“Well, yeah,” Alexis said, as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and started texting someone Patrick couldn’t see, “but also, like, just the whole night. David told me the guy actually _sang to him_ .” She looked up at Patrick, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I mean, can you imagine? _So_ cringy.”

Patrick felt his heart sink down to his stomach and his face flame. “Maybe it was sweet,” he offered, but his voice sounded thin and hollow.

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Alexis shook her head, her eyes back on her phone and two fingers tugging absent-mindedly on an oversized hoop earring. “Not from what David told me. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I had to save him from more than just the paparazzi that day.”

Patrick’s stomach began to churn, his sudden shame mixed with the booze from the last night and his early morning breakfast. The sour taste of bile rose in his throat. He shivered with cold and was suddenly worried his legs wouldn’t keep holding him up for much longer.

 _I shouldn’t have come_.

The thought ran through his mind, blaring from a thousand megaphones at a dizzying volume. With Alexis preoccupied with her phone, he slipped away, stumbling as his heart shattered in his chest. He had made it about 20 meters when another voice stopped him.

“Brewer!”

Turning wildly, his breath coming in short pants, he saw a small, brunet woman in a large green coat and a red hat making her way towards him. He squinted at her, obfuscated as she was by the dazzling winter sunlight, trying to remember where he recognized her from.

“Did you see David?”

 _Stevie_ , his brain supplied. _David’s friend at the hotel._

“I can’t be here,” Patrick tried, making to walk away, but Stevie stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Hey, wait!”

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, Stevie, just...tell David I’m sorry.”

Shaking Stevie off, Patrick kept walking, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets and raising his shoulders up against the cold.

“He’s worth it, you know!”

Patrick paused at Stevie’s words, but he didn’t turn around. “Worth what?”

“Whatever this is. Whatever he’s done, he just...you have to let him make mistakes, but he’s worth it. I promise.”

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Patrick whispered, “I’m the one making mistakes.”

* * *

Patrick had thought very seriously of staying in bed all day when he woke up that morning, but couldn’t bring himself to leave Twyla alone with the Christmas crowd they’d been dealing with for the last few weeks. He’d trudged through his morning routine - a quick shower and shave, teeth cleaning, and a cup of tea - but when he arrived at the shop, he realized he needn’t have bothered. Monday mornings, it turned out, were not prime Christmas shopping time.

At least it gave him an excuse to hide in the back room. He sat at his desk, broken lumbar support still digging into his back even though he had the money now to upgrade, and closed his eyes.

He was just getting comfortable when he heard the ringing of the bell on the door indicating a customer. For one brief moment, Patrick contemplated how bad it would be if he just let the customer rob him, but he eventually got his act together and dragged himself out of his chair.

“Hi, can I - David.”

Patrick froze in the doorway. David was there. David was standing in the middle of his shop, wearing the softest looking sweater Patrick thought he’d ever seen. All before 9:00 am.

Patrick’s body went warm the way it always did when David was near, but this time it’s burned hot, his heart beating out of time in his chest.

“Hi.” David’s voice was soft and unsure. His hands twisted together in front of him, the sleeves of his sweater pulled down to his knuckles, worrying the rings on his fingers. “I...I missed you the other day. I thought you might have stayed.”

“Sorry.” Patrick had to clear his throat to get the word out. “I...I had somewhere else to be.”

“Of course.” David looked down, and it was then that Patrick noticed the guitar case beside him. “Well, I...I brought you this. I...um...I got it at an auction years ago, but I thought...I thought you might appreciate it more.”

“Thanks.” Patrick made no move to open it, Alexis’ ‘cringy’ comments echoing in his ears.

“Right...um…” David’s eyes darted around the store before locking again with Patrick’s. He took a breath, stealing himself for what came next. “I wanted...I wanted to say I’m sorry. For how I acted the last time I was here. You were so kind to let me stay after...after what had happened the time before. And I...well I wasn’t very nice, was I?”

“Every time I see you, it always seems to start with ‘I’m sorry.’”

David winced, swallowing hard against Patrick’s words, but he soldiered on. “I know, and I’m...well, I’m sorry. And I...I’d like to make it up to you. Maybe...maybe start over or at least go back to when you didn’t hate me. You said such beautiful things to me that night, and then I...I messed everything up.”

Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and looked down, shaking his head. He felt like he was on a boat, the floorboards beneath him tilted, pitching back and forth as the waves crashed over him. David was so hot and cold, it was impossible to keep his feet. “Alexis told me what you really thought of that night. ‘Cringy’ was the word she used. That you couldn’t get out of there fast enough. That she had to rescue you from me just as much as from those photographers.”

David’s mouth dropped open. “Alexis? Why would she -”

“She didn’t know who she was talking to.”

“Look, Patrick, I can...you have to understand, I was _scared_. My privacy had just been completely violated by Sebastien and then when the press showed up at your door…I didn’t know what to think! And no one’s...no one’s ever been nice to me, the way you had been. No one’s ever treated me like a real person, and I...I just needed time. To process it all.”

“David.” Patrick stopped, scrubbing over his face as he thought through what he wanted to say. “I’m sorry. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t _want_ to keep doing this.”

David’s arms wrapped protectively around his middle and his eyes shone with unshed tears. “Okay,” he whispered. “Got it.”

“I just...you live in a world I don’t understand, David. One where you have to lie about your favorite food and worry about photos getting out of you with the wrong person. I don’t know who you are, not really.”

“But you do!” David pleaded, his voice high and strangled. “You’re the only one who does. You’re the only one who doesn’t...who doesn’t _care_ about the rest of it. You look at me and you don’t see David Rose, the movie star, son of TV’s Moira Rose and heir to the Rose Video empire. You just see David. You just see a boy, who’s broken and scared and...and who finally loves someone. Who loves you.”

Patrick looked down, steady in resolve, and said nothing. He heard, rather than saw, David’s sniffle, then stiffened when he felt David approach, his eyes closing against burning tears. Long, firm fingers cupped his cheek, the cool metal of David’s rings stinging his skin, and then David’s lips, warm and soft, pressed gently against his temple.

“Goodbye, Patrick.”

By the time Patrick opened his eyes, David was gone.

Patrick stood still for several moments, unable to fully process what had just happened, but eventually, he stirred. Before he could be interrupted by customers, he hastily locked the front door, turning the sign to read CLOSED, and took the guitar case David had left with him into the back room.

The clasps opened with a satisfying clunk. He lifted the lid and gently eased the instrument out of its case. His hands smoothed over polished wood, fingers plucking at the strings. They were out of tune after long years of neglect, but Patrick could fix that with a simple app on his phone.

At first, Patrick didn’t notice the signature on the body of the guitar, but when he did, his heart leaped to his throat.

Looking back in the case, Patrick saw a sheet of paper tucked into a pocket. He pulled out the provenance, a bill of sale from an auction house where Moira Rose had purchased Joni Mitchell’s signed Martin D-28.

Patrick’s hands shook as he picked up the instrument again, taking it all in anew. He pulled out his phone, tuning it up as quickly as he could, before letting his fingers pick over the stings. Reverently, he began to strum, C to G/B to Am7.

_I met a woman_  
_She had a mouth like yours, she knew your life_  
_She knew your devils and your deeds, and she said_  
_“Go to him, stay with him if you can_  
_But be prepared to bleed.”_


	8. Chapter 8

It was Twyla who called them all for a family meeting. She had found Patrick in the back room just minutes after David had left, strumming a guitar she didn’t recognize with a dazed look on his face, and decided it was time to take matters into her own hands. The front door to the shop was left closed and locked, and the family sat on stray chairs and stools and, in Mutt’s case, an overturned bucket. Even Ted had been able to slip away, pushing back two neutering appointments until later that afternoon, though he was dressed in scrubs and had his emergency bag tucked under his seat.

“So, why don’t you just...tell us what happened,” Clint suggested when no one else seemed ready to wade in. “In your own words.”

“Uh...okay.” Patrick’s hands twisted together in front of him, suddenly nervous to tell them about his meeting but unsure why that would be. “Well, David came by to see me this morning. He...he apologized for what happened last time and said...well, he didn’t say Alexis was wrong in what she told me, but he said he was scared and that...that he needed time to process things because no one had ever actually been _nice_ to him before.” The empathetic looks on his family’s faces made something hot twist in Patrick’s gut. “And he asked if we could start over, but I...politely declined.”

The stunned silence was finally broken by Mutt clearing his throat. “So you...you turned down David Rose, the man you’ve been pining after for the better part of a year?” When Patrick nodded, Mutt exchanged a skeptical look with Ted, but just said, “I guess that makes sense. For you.”

“I just…” Patrick groaned, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “It shouldn’t be this hard, right? He shouldn’t be able to hurt me this badly. It shouldn’t be so easy for him to walk away each time, leaving me with another mess to deal with. Right?”

“Of course not, sweetie,” Marcy said quickly, reaching over to take Patrick’s hand in hers and give it a warm, motherly squeeze. “All we want is for you to be happy, and if this isn’t making you happy…” she trailed off, shooting a look at Clint.

“Oh! Uh…” Clint readjusted himself in his chair, startled by the conversation being tossed in his direction like a hot potato. “Right. Right, we just want you to be happy. And David...well, you certainly looked happy when you brought him to dinner that one time.” At the glare Marcy sent his way, Clint hurried to continue, “But like you said, it’s been hard for you, too. I mean…” Clint trailed off with an apologetic shrug.

“My mom’s cousin dated an actor once,” Twyla piped up. “He wasn’t in movies or anything, but he was an expert in running the badger game. She lost most of her life savings. So if David’s anything like that, this is definitely the best decision.”

Patrick blinked twice, trying to get his brain to be able to think of David and what sounded like a 1930s grifter as the same person. It was impossible to imagine, but Patrick still managed to smile thinly at Twyla in acceptance of her, however odd, support.

The group exchanged looks over Patrick’s head as they lapsed into silence again, each one signaling for someone else to pick up the thread of conversation. This time, it was Mutt who took the lead. “So, what’s with the guitar, man?”

Patrick’s eyes slid towards the black case, laying open to show the instrument inside. “David gave it to me. Um...apparently it was Joni Mitchell’s.”

Mutt whistled under his breath, giving voice to the bevy of astonished looks the rest of the group exchanged.

“So, he knows?” Ted almost faltered under everyone’s sudden attention. “I mean, otherwise that’s a pretty big coincidence to show up with a guitar from someone who happens to mean so much to you. I didn’t realize you two had gotten to know each other that well yet.”

“We don’t,” Patrick began, but then he hesitated, the memory of David’s words flashing hot across his skin like a brand. “Or at least...I don’t know. He said I did.”

“You did what?”

Patrick looked at his hands, clenched together in his lap. His lips curled up in a soft, sad smile. “Knew him.” He cleared his throat, squinting into the sunlight as he looked out the shop window onto the street in front, but instead of the regular city bustle, he could only see David, a vision of black and white stripes and a splash of purple smoothie marring the monochrome before he disappeared. “He said I was the only person who really knew him, who saw _David_ and not just David Rose. That instead of all the celebrity, I could see that he was just a boy who was broken and scared and...and who finally loved someone.”

The silence was deafening to Patrick’s ears. He didn’t want to look up. It felt like more effort than he’d ever put into anything to lift his head and meet the faces of his family. He felt himself start to crack under the weight of their gaze.

“You think I made the wrong choice?”

“You’re the only one who can know that, sweetie.”

Patrick squeezed his mother’s hand, glad as ever for her warm, solid support. “After everything with Rachel, I just feel like I need to protect myself. I tried so hard to make it work with her and everything was so wrong. What if this is just the same thing again?”

“But what if it’s not?” Patrick turned to look at Ted who had a determined look on his face. “Look, I get it. You’ve been burned. It’s not easy to put yourself out there again after something like that. And I know David messed up. He messed a few times, but he said you’re the only person who actually sees him. So this can’t be easy for him either.”

Patrick’s heart began to pound, widening the cracks in the walls he had so hastily erected.

“It’s just...love isn’t usually the whole fairytale thing where everything just falls into place. You have to fight for it. And it hurts sometimes, and sometimes we lose, but...I think it’s important to remember that sometimes it does work out. And even though everything inside of you is telling you to protect yourself, when you’ve got it...don’t let it go. And from everything you’ve said about David, I’m telling you, you’ve got it!”

Patrick’s heart leapt to his throat with an ache so tight he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He lurched to his feet, his chair scraping backwards with a terrible shriek.

“I need to see him.” Five stunned faces stared back at him. “Mutt, how fast does your van go?”

With a whoop, Ted leapt out of his seat. “Oh, thank God!” he cried, throwing his arms around Patrick and pulling him in for a back slapping hug. “Do you know how many dirt bike tours it would have taken to get Alexis out of my head? I would have done it for you, man, but with Christmas coming up and everyone wanting to gift puppies to their kids and boyfriends, I just don’t have time for that much dirt bike riding!”

Encouraged by Ted’s enthusiasm, the rest of the group leapt to their feet, their excited chatter bolstering Patrick’s resolve. They charged out of the store—Twyla the only one with enough sense to remember to lock the door behind them—and clamored into the back of Mutt’s beat up van, tripping over loose pinecones as they went.

“Where to, Pat?” Mutt called over the din.

Patrick had one foot in the van, his hands grasping the doorframe, ready to pull himself inside, but he stopped. His mind whirred and a splash of blue flashed before his eyes. “Wait one second,” he said, darting around the side of the shop and up the stairs to his apartment. He barreled through the door and into his bedroom, tearing across the floor and dropping to his knees in front of his closet. There, in the same crumpled heap it had been in since the first time he’d worn it, lay his blue sweater.

"Sweetie, you look gorgeous," Marcy cooed as Patrick hurtled into the van, newly dressed in his sweater. It felt comforting, soft and warm like David was hugging him. He just knew it would mean something to David to see him wearing it.

“Thanks, Mom." Patrick took a deep breath, trying to calm his frenzied heart. “Okay, Mutt, to The Hazelton. It’s the hotel he always stays at.”

“This is so exciting!” Twyla shouted, clapping her hands together, and letting out a squeal as Mutt peeled away from the sidewalk. He made a hairpin turn, almost throwing Marcy and Ted from their seats, but was soon barreling down the street towards the hotel.

Four backseat drivers pelted Mutt with alternate route suggestions, the volume continuing to rise until Mutt finally screeched to a stop. “This is my van!” he shouted, silencing his opposition. “I decide the route!”

Four sheepish apologies came from the back of the van as Mutt eased off the break and started to drive again. A hysterical laugh bubbled up from Patrick’s gut, nerves and excitement and the warm, thrill of support sloshing together inside of him until it burst from his lips, and soon the whole van was awash with laughter.

 _Even if this is all for nothing_ , Patrick thought, _I’m glad they’re all here with me._

Pulling up outside The Hazelton Hotel, Mutt hadn’t yet come to a complete stop when Patrick opened the van door and barreled out. He sprinted in the front door of the hotel, spotting Stevie at the concierge desk, slumped over her phone in her usual display of apathy.

“Stevie!” Patrick called, tripping over his feet in his haste, but he managed to grab onto the edge of the desk before face-planting onto the hotel floor. While gasping for breath, Patrick asked, “Is David here?”

The look Stevie gave him was anything but friendly. One eyebrow lifted and her lip curled in a sneer. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said coldly, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her chin in a clear challenge. “I don’t know who you’re looking for.”

“David Rose, Stevie,” Patrick panted. “I’m looking for David Rose.”

“There is no David Rose currently staying with us.”

“What about a...a Mark Darcy?” Patrick could hear the desperation bleeding into his voice.

“Nope.”

“Oh, from _Bridget Jones’ Diary_?” Patrick whirled around to see his mother standing at his side.

“Yeah, he...he said he likes to use the name of rom-com leads for privacy when he stays at hotels, but I don’t know any-”

“Okay, what about Harry Burns?” Marcy turned to Stevie, cutting Patrick off. At Stevie’s negative indication, she continued. “Bob Rueland? Edward Lewis? Linus Larabee? Joe Fox? Sam Baldwin? Matt Flamhaff?”

Patrick stood stunned as his mother rattled off name after name, each one earning a head shake from Stevie. He could see Stevie’s resolve slipping, the tension in her shoulders easing and the glare on her face softening. Eventually, though, Marcy ran out of steam, her well of rom-com knowledge dried up, and she turned to Patrick with a look of sorrow on her face.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Patrick said, barely looking at Stevie as he pulled Marcy into a quick hug. “We’ll figure something else out.”

Stevie heaved a heavy sigh as the two made to leave, but called out a sullen, “Wait!” When Patrick turned back around, she rolled her eyes and said, “There may have been a Mr. Peter Warne staying here, but he checked out about an hour ago.”

“Do you know where he went?”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t know that I should say. You really messed him up, you know.”

“And he didn’t do the same to me?” Stevie squinted at him, like she wasn’t sure what to think, so Patrick barreled on. “You told me I have to let him make mistakes. Well, he’s got to let me make them, too.”

Stevie chewed her lip thoughtfully for several heart stopping seconds before finally saying, “Press conference at the Eglinton Grand. But you better hurry!”

The words had barely left Stevie’s mouth before Patrick was sprinting out the door, hollering his thanks over his shoulder, as Marcy trotted after him, praising David’s knowledge of the classics.

Mutt was waiting where he had dropped them off, his hazard lights flashing and the engine idling. Patrick and Marcy flew towards the van, both shouting out instructions, and with the side door still wide open and one hand laying on his horn, Mutt tore back onto the street.

It should have been a less than ten minute drive, but before they’d barely gone two kilometers, they came to a stand still. Mutt and Patrick rolled down their windows, trying to see what the hold up was, but all they could see was a crowd of bystanders.

“Hey, man,” Mutt called out to a man walking away from the scene. “What’s going on?”

“Car accident,” the man replied. “Guy hit a dog. No people hurt, but the animal won’t let anyone near it so we don’t know about the dog. Animal hospital’s on it’s way, but no one wants to leave until they know the dog’s okay.”

As the man made his way back to his car, Clint turned to Ted. “If you check on the dog, I’ll direct traffic around it.”

“Let’s do it, man.” Hopping out of the car with Clint hot on his trail, Ted jogged to the front of the line of cars, holding his veterinary badge above his head. An angry snarling and the gasps of several onlookers wafted through Mutt’s open window, but several tense minutes later, they were replaced by what sounded like excited barking and then applause. The engine in the car in front of them turned over and within moments, Mutt was easing around it, directed forward by Clint’s waving.

“Go get ’em, champ!” Clint called out as they passed.

Back on the road again, it was smooth sailing for the next four minutes, and before Patrick was truly ready, they were pulling up outside The Eglinton Grand. Patrick took a deep breath, but didn’t let himself stop to think as he flew from his seat in the van through the front door. He was here. He was doing this. He was going to fight for David.

“Excuse me!” Patrick grabbed his chest, the combination of anxiety, adrenaline, and exertion making him double over and catch his breath before he could ask the man at the front desk where the press conference was being held.

“Are you an accredited member of the press?”

Patrick faltered for a moment, his mouth open and closing like a fish, before he blurted out, “Of course, I’m with _Today’s Trucking_.”

“I’ll need to see your badge.” The man held out his hand expectantly.

“Okay,” Patrick winced as he hedged, “I don’t have a badge, but I need to get in there. It’s an emergency!”

“Sir, if you have no business here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“No, you don’t understand! I have to speak with -”

“He’s with me.”

Patrick had just come to the conclusion that he was not above begging when he was cut off by a voice behind him. Whirling around, Patrick came face to face with Mutt, somehow changed out of his usual flannel and jeans and into a full suit. His hair was neatly combed to the side and his beard smoothed down, and he held himself with an edge of authority Patrick had rarely seen.

“Mutt Schitt,” he said, holding his hand out across the front desk and offering the man a firm shake before flashing his ID. “Mayor Roland Schitt is my father.”

“Oh! Of course, sir.” Clearly flustered, the man fluttered his way around the front desk and guided Mutt and Patrick towards a long hallway. “Right this way, Mr. Schitt. You’ll find the press conference in the ballroom, just through those doors there. Though you’re rather late!”

Without waiting to hear anything more, Patrick sprinted down the hall. He heaved open the heavy doors and stepped into the room. Reporters and photographers congregated en masse, clamoring for their questions to be answered or to snap the perfect shot. Carefully, Patrick made his way forward, murmuring his apologies and excuses for his elbows and toes, his eyes glued to David.

David was a perfect picture of indifference. He sat at a long table next to his sister, his eyes downcast, clouded and cool, looking at anything but the people speaking to him. He was paying just enough attention to respond to the questions with the very briefest of answers, Alexis doing most of the talking for him. Flames engulfed Patrick’s heart and he swallowed thickly, his chest aching at being the reason for David’s clear hurt.

“Yes, that’s right,” Alexis was saying when Patrick stopped, hidden behind a woman in a hot pink blazer. “Mr. Rose will be spending the holidays with his family before the film resumes its shooting schedule in the new year.”

“And will the filming continue in Toronto?”

“Um, actually they’ve wrapped the location shoot this week, so everything else will be done in the studio in LA.” She scanned the raised hands before calling for the next question.

“Mr. Rose, this upcoming film is a pretty big departure from the usual roles and films you take on. Any reason for the change?”

Patrick watched David shift in his seat as Alexis turned to him expectantly, unable to answer the question for him. With a grimace, David said, “Someone I used to know suggested I try a change of pace. Tell the stories I like best once in a while. Even if they’re not where the acclaim or the money is.”

If it wasn’t already, Patrick’s heart would have started to pound. Knowing that he could have had such an effect on David took his breath away.

At Alexis’ nod, the next reporter changed the subject to David’s personal life. Though he wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed, Patrick could see how David instantly tensed, his shoulders held high and tight and his mouth pressed into a small, flat line.

“Jake Woods has recently been linked to several high profile models. Does this mean you’ve split for good?”

David let out a wry laugh. “Jake is everyone’s ex and no one’s ex.”

“Okay!” Alexis chirped, quick to jump in before David could say anything he might regret. “Yes, you in the pink shirt.”

“David, the last time you were in Toronto, there were some fairly risque photographs taken of you outside the home of a local Canadian guy. Anything you can tell us about that?”

As if he had grown roots, tangled deep underground, Patrick found himself unable to move at the mention of himself. He held his breath, straining to hear every word David had to say.

“Mmkay, I would hardly call two men in their pajamas risque,” David began, one eyebrow raised imperiously, and Patrick had to stifle the laugh that threatened to burst out of him. “But otherwise”—he shrugged with practiced nonchalance—“there’s nothing to tell. He was a friend. Still is a friend. I think.”

_I will always be your friend._

“And nothing more?”

David’s face pinched. On the table in front of him, he folded and refolded his hands, twisting his silver rings. “No.”

An unending silence followed the word, during which time Patrick’s body went from hot to cold to clammy. It could only have been a few seconds, but to Patrick it felt like a lifetime as Alexis shot her brother a concerned look then turned back to the crowd, her beaming smile perfectly affixed. Patrick ached. He had put that look on David’s face. He had been the one to break his heart. He had to fix it.

Without a fully formed plan, Patrick raised his hand.

“Um, yes, you in the gorgeous blue sweater.”

For a split second, Patrick waited for someone to speak, then realized Alexis was staring at him, waiting expectantly for his question. He stared back, unable to form a coherent thought, until David finally glanced up.

A shock went through Patrick as their eyes met, and he watched the journey of recognition, surprise, and defeat displayed on David’s face. His eyes snapped downwards and he lit up, a flicker of hope passing through his eyes as he took in Patrick’s sweater. It was that last look that emboldened him, pushed Patrick to fight for David.

“Are there any circumstances where the two of you might be more than friends?”

David’s face twitched with confusion, but he answered, “I hoped there would be, but no. I’m assured there aren’t.”

“Well, what would you say -”

“Oh, oops, _sooo_ sorry,” Alexis cut in with an exaggeratedly apologetic pout, “but it’s just one question per person, please.”

“No, I want to hear this.”

Patrick waited for Alexis’ nod of permission, before continuing. “I was just wondering...if, uh, it turned out this... _person_ -”

“Brewer,” someone from the crowd helpfully supplied. “His name was Brewer.”

“Right, thanks.” Patrick took a deep breath, momentarily thrown off his game by the interruption. “I just wondered, if Mr. Brewer realized he’d been a...well, a colossal asshole”—a titter ran through the crowd—“and got down on his knees and begged for your forgiveness...would you? Forgive him?”

David chewed on the inside of his lip and turned away, his whispered “maybe” almost missed by the mic.

Patrick took a step forward, the crowd parting easily for him. He could tell from the excited murmurings that people were beginning to figure it out, realizing that he was the man in question. Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick could see his family crowding in at the door, every one of them, even the tiny dog in Ted’s arms, offering silent support.

“And what would you say if he told you that he had spent most of his life not knowing what _right_ was supposed to feel like? Until he met you. Until you made him feel right.”

David let out an audible sniff, his head falling backwards as he blinked back tears. “I would say that is quite possibly one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard anyone say...um, outside of the _Downton_ _Christmas special_.”

A grin stretched across Patrick’s face. “Well, it’s the truth.”

David turned to look at Alexis, his face broken open, unsure of what to do next, and all she offered back was a knowing little smile and a shooing motion with both hands. David stood, flashing Patrick a watery smile, before scuttling around the table. He tripped over the corner in his haste, calling out to the crowd, “You better get your cameras ready!” but didn’t stop until he was in Patrick's arms where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue still to come!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy a quick E-rated epilogue for those who needed just a little bit more 😇

“God, I thought I’d never get you alone!”

Patrick was too preoccupied with the softness of David’s lips against his and the warmth of David’s waist beneath his hands to answer, though he agreed with the sentiment. They had kissed in the middle of the press conference; not just any kiss, but a long, slow, passionate kiss full of promise and hope and tenderness. For those few seconds, as their lips touched and their hearts pounded, it was like the world had slipped away, leaving them blissfully alone. But the spell was quickly broken as the crowd pressed in on them, lights flashing and questions raining down on their heads.

It had taken effort to slip away. From Alexis screeching over the din as she tried to wrangle back control, to Ted’s stray dog wiggling loose and happily cavorting through the crowd, to the press spotting Mutt off to the side and pelting the mayor’s son with questions about his relationship with David Rose and David Rose’s mystery man, the room had devolved into absolute pandemonium with David and Patrick at the center of it all. But eventually, they managed it, pushing through the crowd with their hands firmly clasped together until the group was able to clamor back into Mutt’s van and peel away from the rest of the crowd spilling out the doors into the winter sunshine.

Finally, they were alone, tucked into a secluded hotel room Stevie had been able to throw together for them at the last minute. By the time they had arrived, paparazzi were already camped out around the building, so she hustled them up a back stairway, gave David a back-breaking hug, and pushed them through the door to their own little world.

In a flurry of limbs and giggles, David and Patrick stumbled towards the bed, tripping over their feet as clothes rained down around them. It took effort for David to shimmy out of his skin-tight black jeans and Patrick almost toppled over as he tried to toe out of his boots, but eventually, they managed it and tumbled into bed together, gloriously naked.

Scrambling back onto his heels, Patrick looked down at the man spread out beneath him, his breath catching at the beauty of David’s long legs and broad shoulders and the thatch of hair dusted over his chest. That first night together had been like a dream, something hazy and ephemeral Patrick had tried so desperately to cling to. But now, with the promise of a future stretched out before them, Patrick could take his time exploring David’s body, content to leave future discoveries for the days (months? _years?_ ) they had ahead of them.

Slowly, reverently, Patrick lowered himself down between David’s legs, pressing kisses along the inside of his thighs to his pointed hip bones. He felt David’s sharp intake of breath when Patrick’s lips trailed over the soft curve of his belly, felt the way he instinctively tried to flatten himself out, and then the tremulous release. David’s eyes were big and round when Patrick looked up, trust still fragile and new.

“Beautiful,” Patrick whispered, sure the radiant smile David offered in return could have overshadowed the sun.

“There’s...um…” David struggled to put words together with Patrick’s teeth nibbling so delicately on the inside of his thigh, and his breath came out in short gasps. Finally, with a shake of his head and an escaped whimper, he pulled himself together enough to say, “There’s stuff in my bag. Condoms and... _fuck_ , lube.”

As Patrick slid off the bed in search of supplies, David fell back against the pillow, taking a deep breath, filling his lungs with oxygen and holding it tight until his chest burned with the need for release. It had been a roller coaster of a day - confessing his love for Patrick, getting soundly rejected, but then Patrick’s reappearance at the press conference - and he needed a minute, just one minute to take stock.

 _I want to be good at this_ , David thought to himself, folding his arms beneath his head and allowing himself to stare openly at Patrick’s naked form, bent over and rooting through David’s bag. _I want to love him. I want...I want to be his._

Patrick was on him again before David had another moment to think, his mouth covering David’s own and stealing his breath away. Patrick’s hands were everywhere, touching every inch of David’s body, his fingers drawing pleasure out of David like he’d never known before. As PAtick’s tongue licked into David’s mouth, David whimpered clutching at Patrick’s back, just trying to hold on.

Warm breath tickled over the shell of David’s ear as Patrick whispered, “I’ve got you, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

David couldn’t even respond, all thoughts gone except for the smell of Patrick’s skin, the petal-soft brush of his lips against David’s throat, and the sting of Patrick’s teeth on David’s pulse point. He gasped in pleasured shock as Patrick reached between his legs, two wet fingers circling his hole.

“Fuck, yes, Patrick!”

David bucked, spreading his legs wider, his body begging for more of Patrick’s touch, but Patrick’s fingers stayed feather-light, a barely-there tease at David’s entrance.

“Is this what you want, David?” Patrick asked, biting back his grin and slipping the tip of one finger inside.

“I want you inside,” David panted. “Please, Patrick!”

Licking into David’s mouth, just barely brushing their tongues together, Patrick pushed his finger all the way in, his cock jumping at the happy moan David let out. Pulling out again, he added a second finger and pushed in again. He took his time, stretching and teasing David before he finally added a third and began again. Crooking his fingers forward, he brushed over David’s prostate, swallowing down the sweet, desperate noises David made.

“God, just look at you,” Patrick whispered. David was writhing on his fingers, rolling his hips and trying to take Patrick deeper. “So desperate and needy. You’re gorgeous like this, David, and I’m the only one who gets to see it.”

A shockwave passed through David’s body at Patrick’s words, and he moaned louder, clutching at Patrick’s back. It was true. For all that Sebastien’s terrible photos had been released to the world, no one had ever truly seen him, not like Patrick had. Patrick saw what was real.

“Patrick, please,” David whined, grabbing for any part of Patrick he could reach. “I need you, please!”

With a laugh, Patrick swooped down on him, enveloping David in a bruising kiss, and before he knew it, the blunt head of Patrick’s cock was pressed against David’s entrance. David gasped as Patrick entered him, the glide slow and sweet, that full feeling filling up his heart.

Once he was seated, Patrick gave David just a moment to adjust, brushing barely-there kisses against his lips, before he began to move. Patrick’s hips rolled, thrusting deeper and deeper inside, and David met him stroke for stroke. Together they moved in tandem, their pleasure mounting as their bodies connected.

“Wait,” David gasped out, pushing against Patrick’s chest. “Wait, let me…” He pushed Patrick again until he had pulled out, concern etched on his face, but David made quick work of wrestling Patrick onto his back and throwing a leg over his hips.

Patrick couldn’t help but reach out, his hands needing to hold onto David. He grabbed David’s hips and helped guide him down onto his cock, both men letting out a groan as David sank all the way down.

“Oh, fuck, Patrick!”

David threw his head back in pleasure as he began to work himself up and down, arching his back and thrusting his chest forward. Sweat glistened across his collarbone, dampening the hair on his chest, but he only worked harder, rocking his hips faster. An ache inside his thigh flared where Patrick’s thumb was digging into the soft flesh, but it only took him higher.

One of Patrick’s hands wrapped around David’s neglected cock, holding it in a loose fist, and David became almost frantic, crying out as he faltered, trying to chase pleasure from both ends. His thighs ached with the effort and his lungs burned with every breath, but he couldn’t stop - not when it felt this good, not when _Patrick_ was the one making him feel so good.

“Patrick, I’m gonna...I’m gonna cum!”

But Patrick had other ideas. Planting his feet firmly on the bed, Patrick wrapped his arms around David’s waist, pulling him down to lie across Patrick’s chest. As Patrick began to buck his hips, sheathing himself deep inside, David buried his face in the crook of Patrick’s neck, tasting the salt tang of his sweat as he mouthed at him helplessly.

“Oh god, oh god, yes. Yes, Patrick!”

Patrick’s heart raced and his gut swirled with pleasure, the sounds of David moaning in his ear only spurring him on. The flames of Patrick’s arousal licked up his spine and he could feel his release building. With minimal effort, Patrick tossed David down onto the bed beside him, spreading his legs wide before spearing into him again.

“Oh my god, yes!” David’s eyes went wide. If it wasn’t already, Patrick’s manhandling of him would have had his cock standing at immediate attention. “Yes, that was...oh my god, that was so hot!”

“Yeah?” Patrick asked, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. “How about this?”

Patrick dove forward, tangling his fingers together with David’s and stretching their arms out above David’s head. He snapped his hips, driving into David as he swallowed up David’s cries. The kiss was sloppy and uncoordinated, Patrick’s tongue exploring David’s mouth while David panted, open-mouthed, against Patrick’s lips. With his teeth, Patrick nipped at David’s lower lip, growling as he tugged hard.

With a final burst of energy, Patrick rutted into David in quick, sharp thrusts before he groaned deep in his chest and came, biting down on David’s shoulder as he filled the condom.

As his heartbeat slowed and his hips stilled, Patrick pressed soft, sweaty kisses to David’s throat, to his jaw, and finally to his lips, drinking in David’s smile and his happy purr as he wiggled beneath him.

“Stay right there,” Patrick said, giving David one last quick kiss before pulling out and scrambling off the bed to toss the condom.

He’d barely been gone a moment, but David immediately felt the absence of Patrick, his body cold and bereft without Patrick’s warmth, as if it thought he’d never hold him again. David pushed himself up, lounging more comfortably against the pillows, and took his still hard cock in hand, stroking himself absently.

“That’s mine.” David’s heart skipped as Patrick reappeared in the bathroom doorway, a teasing grin playing on his lips. He was flushed and rumpled and absolutely delicious. David couldn’t look away if he tried.

While his grin widened, Patrick crawled back onto the bed, settling himself comfortably on his stomach between David’s legs. He batted away David’s hand, wrapping his own around David’s cock instead, and with a barely-there wink, dropped open his mouth and swallowed down as far as he could go.

“Oh, yes,” David sighed, his head falling back in bliss. Patrick’s mouth was warm and wet and so perfect David barely noticed the loud thunk his head made against the headboard of the bed. All his attention was being paid to that perfect mouth.

When David tried to buck up into Patrick’s heat, Patrick pulled off, shaking his head with laughter and snaking his arms beneath David’s knees and gripping tight to his hips. His thumbs skimmed over David’s hip bones and his eyes never left David’s, holding him in place just as much as his hands did.

David let out a string of obscenities as Patrick swallowed his cock. One hand tangled in Patrick’s short hair, petting the crown of his head with steady encouragement, while the opposite leg lifted over Patrick’s shoulder, his foot dragging along the lines of Patrick’s spine. It felt incredible, to be so wrapped up in nothing but Patrick, and it didn’t take long for David to cum, shouting out his release as he spilled down Patrick’s throat.

The bitter taste of his own cum burst on David’s tongue as Patrick kissed him, deep and full as David held him close. He moaned, licking into Patrick’s mouth, desperate to taste more of himself on Patrick’s tongue.

When they finally separated, both gasping for breath, David found himself overcome, the day finally catching up to him and lodging in his throat. He cleared it several times, but couldn’t find the words to break through the blockage.

“I’m sorry.” It was Patrick who finally spoke, his hand resting on David’s throat, feeling the steady thrum of David’s pulse beneath his fingers. “I almost let you go.”

“I didn’t give you much to hold onto, did I?” Patrick’s smile was soft and small, his eyes warm and earnest, but David could see more behind them. He took a moment to look, to truly _look_ at the man in his bed, at the flush staining Patrick’s cheeks and the broad set of his shoulders and his strong, steady hands. Patrick was here. After everything David had put him through, after all the times David had shoved him away, back was here. He’d come back. “I hurt you.” It wasn’t a question. “I...I wasn’t very nice.”

“Nice doesn’t exactly seem on-brand for you.”

David rolled his eyes at Patrick’s teasing, but something happy twisted in his gut. “I’m trying to apologize here!”

“Don’t.” David was sure he was going to melt under Patrick’s wide-eyed, earnest stare. “Don’t apologize. I asked too much of you when you weren’t ready to give it.”

Hiding his face in the pillow, David nodded then allowed just one eye to peek up at Patrick. “I think I’m ready now.”

“Yeah?” Patrick asked, keeping his face steady, but David could see the happiness radiating from within his eyes. “What are you ready for?”

“Ready for you. To...to trust you and let you in. To know it doesn’t matter how the world sees me because...because you see the real me.” Patrick’s lips turned down in a shy, little smile David couldn’t help but kiss. “I want you in my life. Openly and...and without hesitation.”

“Okay, David.”

“I want to walk the red carpet with you. And...and hang out in the backroom of your store. I want to carve our initials on your parents’ love tree. I want-”

Patrick's smile was blinding, igniting something within David, something that made him feel more bold and brave than he ever had before.

“I want a life, Patrick,” David whispered against Patrick’s lip, holding him close and vowing to never let go. “I want a life with you.”


End file.
